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JUNE, 1925 



Nichols Sv- 



FOREWORD— The Editor 1 

"ON THE TRAFFIC QUESTION"— Luther Howes, '27 . " 2 

"WHEN AUTOS SPROUT WINGS"— Edmund Morrisey, '27 2 

"A STRUGGLE"— Robert C. Waldheim, '25 2 


"MASTERPIECES"— Alice Pratt, '25 3 

"MOON MAGIC"— Katherine Foss, '24 5 

"HER MISSION"— Mary Crowley, '25 6 

"THE WOODS"— J. H. Rosengren, '25 6 

"NOCTURNE"— M. S. Lindeberg, '25 7 

"A BARRIER TO BEAUTY"— Grace Potter, '25 8 


"BROTHERS— AS THEY ARE"— J. M. Saelen, '25 . . . . . .10 

"MY GOOD LUCK"— L. Wenzel, '25 10 

"MY AMBITION"— Ernest Malloy, '25 11 

"THE SEA"— E. Cobb, '25 ... 12 

"EDUCATION"— Chester Bailey, '25 12 

"MYSELF"— Bertha Hershenson, '27 14 

"THE NEXT WAR"— John Anderson, '25 15 

"BOOKS"— Dorothy Thompson, '26 16 


'25 17 

"ALGY GETS ENOUGH"— Joseph Moore, '26 17 

"THE JOY OF LIVING"— Elizabeth Maloney, '25 19 


"SALLY AND ME"— Edith Macready, '25 21 

"THE WRECK OF A HENRY FORD"— Anna Higgins, '25 22 

"A TALE WITH A MORAL"— Irving Fireman, '25 23 

"BLOKES"— Henry M. Newman, '26 23 

"THE REFORMATION OF SLIPPERY JOE"— Wilbur C. Fay, '27 . . . .23 

"HIS INHERITANCE"— E. H. Stone, '26 25 

"A SPRING DIRGE"— Teresa Welch, '25 27 

"ARE WE READY FOR OUR CUE?"— Alice Pratt, '25 28 

"A TRIP THAT DIDN'T PROVE TIRESOME"— A. L. French, '26 . . . .29 

"A TALE OF TWO CITIES"— Ruth Gustafson, '27 31 


"PANSIES"— James Collins, 8B 32 

"THE STORY OF A PATRIOT,"— Charles Newman, 8A 32 

"TO THE PINK LADY'S-SLIPPER"— Betty Blair, 8B 32 

"CONDUCT IN THE LIBRARY"— Loretta Fitzgerald, 8A 33 

"THE AMERICAN FLAG"— Frances Maloney, 8F 33 

"MY DREAM GARDEN"— Edna Sunderland, 8G 33 

"THE VIOLET"— Edna Sunderland, 8G S3 

"TO THE MORNING GLORY"— Elizabeth Campbell, 8G 33 

"IN FLANDERS FIELD"— Janice Mackenzie, 8A 34 

"THE VIOLET"— Frances Maloney, 8F 34 

"TO A VIOLET"— Lilian Beaulieu, 8B 34 

"THE TULIP"— Joseph O'Connor, 8B . .34 

"HOLLYHOCKS"— Doris Dexter, 8B . . . ^ 34 

"TO A ROSE"— Marion Murphy, 8B 34 

"FAIRIES AND FLOWERS"— Marjorie Gifford, 8E 34 

"OH, TEACHER"— Philip Kravitz, 8B 35 

"A FAVORITE SPOT"— Betty Blair, 8B 35 

"THE DAISY"— Joseph Dempsey, 8B 35 


"LE PETIT CHAPEAU"— Naomi Fay, '25 36 

"VISITE ROYALE"— Anna Weisul, '26 37 

"LE PRINTEMPS"— Joseph Connolly, '27 37 

"LA MORT DE JOHN SARGENT"— John Slattery, '26 37 

"UN VIAJE A ESPANA"— Olga M. Zurba, '26 37 


"LA PRIMAVERA"— Dorothy W. Thompson, '26 39 









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Nichols Stpset 

i«r ^ ** N&westf, ten 0^2 > 

VOL. 5 

JUNE, 1925 


NO. 4 



GRACE POTTER (Assistant), '25 
Business Managers 

CHESTER BAILEY. '25— Chairman 





Exchange Editor 

Alumni Editors 



Class Editors 


Junior High Editors 


School Activities 


Faculty Advisers 


THE last issue! The Senior Issue! 
Only the Seniors, and especially the 
Senior members of the Staff, can really 
appreciate poignantly the knell-like qual- 
ity of these words. For years, now, the 
Seniors have contributed to the "Argue- 
not." and have experienced that thrill 
which accompanies the sight of their 
names and writings in print. 

Xow they will no longer take active 
part in the work of the school and the 
school paper, but they will always continue 
to give both their interest and support. 

In anticipation of this interest and 
support, moral and material, the Staff 
dedicates this last issue of the "Arguenot" 
to the. members of the Class of 1925. 
May they and the "Arguenot" prosper in 
years to come, and may they both attain 
the ideals set up for them by the Norwood 
High School. 

and wishes them 

* * * 

all things good, and hopes 

* H= * 

that they will always 

* * * 

remember it 

and the N. H. S. 

* * * 

with a certain warm feeling 

* * * 

about their hearts. 

* * * 

The "Arguenot" 

* * * 

wishes the Seniors 

* * * 

the best of luck 

The "Arguenot" bids 

# # * 

farewell to the Seniors 

* * * 

the best of memories 

# # # 

and best of futures. 


* * * 


On the Traffic Question 

MUCH has been said about the care- 
lessness of automobile drivers; 
but isn't there another side to the ques- 
tion? How about the carelessness of 
pedestrians, especially of children? How 
many pedestrians use the safeguards pro- 
vided for them — cross the street only at 
the white lines, or wait at a safety zone 
for a clear passage? Many people ap- 
parently think the motorists should be 
eyes and ears for them, and calmly cross 
the street, leaving it to the drivers to 
miss them as best they can. 

Bad as the grown-up pedestrians are, 

the children are worse. They dodge in 
and out anywhere at anytime. Boys 
stand at the side of the road begging for 
rides and otherwise diverting the motor- 
itsts' attention. Small children with 
their "kiddy cars" and "scooters" use the 
street for a playground and are in con- 
stant danger. 

All these risks are taken not through 
ignorance, but through indifference and 
carelessness. Everyone knows better. 
Therefore let us use our brains and give 
the motorists a square deal. 

Luther Howes, '27. 

r foen Autos Sprout Wings 

MR. ERIK NELSON, of the U. S. 
"Round-the world fliers," has pre- 
dicted winged automobiles. He says, 
"The time is not so very far away when 
autoists will attach wings to the "old 
bus," and fly from the country home to 
the office in the city. On arriving at the 
city, he will "park" the wings at the 
landing grounds and drive the "just- 
plain-auto" to the office." Then he goes 
further to say, "And I hope to live to 
see the day, too." 

When the flying-auto days arrive, the 

steeple-jacks will quit their jobs, so safe, 
high upon the steeple, and take to ditch- 
digging. Some big business men, al- 
ready looking into the future, have been 
busy lately, having plans drawn up for 
their new "Aerial Service Stations." 

Some advertising slogans in "flying 
out days" might be: 

"Instead of making or breaking springs 
in your car, you are apt to break wings 
some day. Take insurance with Break- 
neck Insurance Company, the only com- 
pany with an office on the ground." 

Edmund Morrissey, '27. 

A Struggle 

Poems are not in my line, 
I'd rather write a story; 
Poems won't get me a nice big A, 
Nor cover me with glory. 

I wearily take my pen in hand 
And jot down a couple of lines; 

Oh! I don't care what the content is, 
As long as the darned thing rhymes. 

A sure disaster confronts me, 
But I don't care a bit; 
I've had a fling writing poetry, 
And now you're reading it. 

Robert C. Waldheim, '25. 



THE clock in the church belfry struck 
the hour of noon. The silvery bells 
sent forth a wonderfully sweet peal which 
penetrated the countryside near by. 
The young girl, who had been reading so 
intently, arose at the first stroke of the 
bell and stood with bowed head until 
the last harmonious peal. Then, with a 
sigh not exactly of relief, she sank again 
into the cushions from which she had a 
few moments previously arisen. The 
book remained on the floor at her feet 
where it had fallen. She was not inter- 
ested any more in the story. 

At present she was dreaming — the 
same old dreams of yesterday. Years 
before, when she was only a child and 
her beloved countiy was in the midst 
of war ruins, she had commenced to 
dream, — to build castles in the air 
which w?re only blown away as were the 
soap bubbles of her playtime. It was 
always so disappointing to watch care- 
fully — oh, so carefully — and see the 
tiniest of bubbles appear, grow, grow 
bigger still and then just at the prettiest, 
most colorful stage of the growing, to 
see a puff of wind come and carry it 
up so lightly, way up in the air, up 
among the trees, and then another 
puff of playful wind would come and 

with just a tiny prick — the bubble was 

So it was with all her ideas and dreams, 
reflected the young girl, Nayta. She 
was a beautiful young thing with large 
eyes which turned on one with the appar- 
ent fear of a young fawn, caught. True, 
her grandpere had often called her his 
fawn. She had missed her grandpere a 
lot after he had been found in his last 
sleep one sorrowful, drab day. Nayta 
had grieved, for hadn't her grandpere been 
her chum, her pal? She had been only a 
child before, but this most important 
event in her life had made her older — 
the bud had blossomed and to the coun- 
tryside around Nayta was known as the 
"Image Beautiful." Few people ever 
saw her after her grandfather's funeral, 
for she had kept to herself, seldom allow- 
ing herself to be seen by any of the town- 
folk, but it was generally known that 
at the chiming of the church bells all 
work had ceased in the house of Nayta 
and long after the bells were hushed, 
Nayta sat dreaming. Why, no one knew, 
or ever was to know. 

So it was on this beautiful spring day 
when our story opens. The setting was 
the same as usual — Nayta dreaming, 
the flowers nodding "how-de-do" to 


each other and everything silent except 
for the cheery chirruping of a tiny jay 
as he perched on the branch of a blos- 
soming fruit tree near the cottage. It- 
was all very attractive — there had always 
been enough of worldly goods in Nayta's 
family — and the stranger at the gate 
paused and drank in the beauty of the 
new nature picture with a most. evident 
enjoyment. He was not young so far 
as actual age went, but as he watched 
and watched closely this scene before 
him, the spirit of youth seemed to awaken 
in him again. Little wrinkles began to 
appear at the corners of his eyes, an irre- 
sistible twinkle in them and a pleasant 
curling up at the corners of his mouth. 
He was enjoying himself immensely and 
he became in mood a little boy again. 
How he wished and oh, what would he 
not have given to have had his old sling 
shot with him! He was an American. 
How he would like to have startled this 
beautiful creature, this image who was 
dreaming, sublimely unconscious of the 
hunter so near — the hunter who was 
gazing, yes, staring at his prey! For 
she was his prey. Not for nothing had 
this American gone far out of his way to 
see this Nayta; not for nothing had he 
changed his plans so that he might see 
the "Image Beautiful" of France. Was 
he not an artist? Was he not the artist 
most talked of in England, France and 
America? But this would not be known 
to Nayta, — of this fact he was sure and 
that was why Charens himself had sought 
out this famed French country girl to 
help him in the picture which was to be 
his masterpiece. 

He was enjoying to the uttermost the 
living picture, — the rich little cottage 
which had remained untouched by the 
sordid war, the perfectly arranged gard- 
ens, the trees, the little bird, and last 
of all the girl herself. Was it real? 

Was it a living picture? It was one of 
God's masterpieces — he was sure of 
that — but still, he wished he could startle 
her — surprise her into another fashion of 
beauty. That was the youth in him — 
youth, youth. 

He spoke softly, after a minute, but 
the girl did not move — she was far away. 
Again he spoke and slowly, oh so slowly, 
Nayta returned. When at last her feet 
touched the ground as she jumped from 
her dream-chariot, she became aware of 
the stranger and with a sudden graceful 
leap from her cushions, rah and stood in 
the doorway, gazing with childish eyes, 
full of fear, at Charens. With determi- 
nation in every move, the latter put out 
his hand to open the gate which barred 
the shell path, but as he did so, some 
unforeseen power bolted it and Charens 
was not able to move it. Looking up, 
he met the eyes of Nayta, which had a 
most triumphant glint in them. It was 
strange, he thought. She was amused 
at him! Well, he was amused, too — at 
himself! He would disturb her no more 
today — he had seen her — but tomorrow, 

The morrow came and everything was 
the same as on the previous day. Nayta 
was aroused from her cushions by the 
songs of the bells. She was entirely 
unconscious of Charens, who had stolen 
up behind a bush and who, with wonder- 
ful rapidity was transferring the scene 
before him onto a piece of canvas. As 
Nayta dreamed, Charens dreamed also, 
even though he was working fast for fear 
of losing his model. He dreamed of the 
picture that was to be his masterpiece — 
one of God's masterpieces reproduced by 
him, Charens. But then, Nayta dreamed 
too. All of us dream at some time or 
another and do our dreams come true? 
Sometimes, but — 

Day after day, Charens worked in 


the same manner and Nayta, for some 
unknown reason, worked into his plans 
as though everything had been previ- 
ously arranged. It was strange — it 
seemed almost as though the Fates had 
directed the actions of the young girl. 
Slowly but surely the daubs of color on 
Charens' canvas took definite form and 
Charens' heart skipped with joy and 
happiness at the wonderful thing which 
he was achieving. 

The day came when Charens had 
finished his masterpiece and he had dis- 
appeared from the little French village 
where Nayta lived. 

:fc ^ ^ rfc ^c 

It was several years later. A group of 
distinguished looking men and women 
were grouped in front of the most talked 

of picture in all the galleries of the day. 
Among them was Charens. He was 
speaking. "No, I never spoke to her and 
sometimes I think I dreamed it all. If I 
did, there it is — my 'Image Beautiful.' " 
Was it true that it had been just a 
dream — one of those lovely apparitions 
which an artist can sometimes evolve 
by "building a bridge from dreamland" 
for his theme? As the years passed, 
Charens found it more and more difficult 
to convince himself that Nayta had 
actually existed. Was she not the in- 
carnate spirit of spring hovering over the 
lovely scene which he had painted? How- 
ever that might be, there remained al- 
ways the tangible result of his work, — his 
"Image Beautiful." 

Alice M. Pratt, '25. 

One silver velvet night in warm mid- A drop of moonlight must have gone to 


I stumbled on along a craggy beach. 

Boulders shoulder-high to me I clamb- 

And breakers talked to me with roaring 

And suddenly a huge, black crag loomed 

Bffore me like a giant in the night, 
And, as I walked and peeked around it's 

I saw a little, dancing, moonlight-spright. 

make her, 
So bright and silver was her gleaming 

skin ; 
Her hair some moonbeams spun to silky 

A reed her swaying body must have been. 

She danced, lithely, as I gazed in 

Timing to some fairy music sweet; 
She held her slim young arms up toward 

the moon-man; 
She tripped and dipped upon her dazzling 


I watched, held cold and breathless by 
the mystic, 

And wished and hoped she never would 
be through, 

And then she turned, I looked, all un- 
believing, — 

'Twas just an honest-to-goodness girl like 

Katherine Foss, '24. 


Her Mission 

HELEN FITZJAMES, social worker, 
had just landed at the port of 
Tokio. There she was met by the Ameri- 
can *\mbassador, who was expecting 

"I hate to discourage you at the start," 
he said, as they were riding to the Ameri- 
can quarters, "but I am afraid you have 
a very great task waiting for you, Miss 
Fitzjames. There is a pagan tribe called 
the Nuddkas who persist in keeping their 
savage customs. They will be your 
greatest problem, but I am ready to be 
of assistance to you if need be." 

"Thank you. Perhaps I may need 
your assistance before long," she replied. 

Next morning she went to visit the 
Nuddka section of the city to find out 
what she could about the people there. 
But finding the houses deserted, she 
walked along the main street until she 
heard shouts to the right. Turning 
down this street, she saw a huge throng in 
the distance and, hurrying towards them, 
she could see that they were dancing 
around and shouting excitedly. Being 
careful not to attract attention to herself, 
she skirted the crowd until she came to 
the diggings of what she supposed was 
to be a temple. 

Then she saw what it was that the 

people were so excited about. A very 
young, attractive girl was standing at the 
edge of the foundation trying to make 
herself heard above the shouts of the 
crowd. Helen spoke to a man who 
looked to be English and asked him what 
they were doing to the girl. 

/'They are going to bury her alive in the 
foundation of their temple so that it 
may be protected from earthquakes. No 
girl will do but this one because she has 
been chosen by the people," he explained. 

Helen gasped. She couldn't let this 
go on. She must think quickly. She 
knew the great superstition of such pagan 
people and suddenly she thought of a 
wierd favor she had stuffed into her 
pocket the night before, at the end of a 
party. She pulled it out of her pocket, 
and pulling her hair down to make her- 
self more unnatural-looking, she darted 
up beside the girl and blew on the horrible 
orange paper favor until every Nuddka 
had fallen on his knees with his face to 
the earth. Then she grabbed the girl 
by the wrist and dragged her with her. 
They left on the next boat for America. 

Helen Fitzjames' mission had been 
short but successful without even the 
ambassador's help. 

Mary Crowley, 25. 

The Woods 

I wander thru the woods each morn, 
'Neath cool and swaying branches; 
Tread pine needles soft and worn 
By endless fairy dances. 

All is wakened fresh and bright ; 
Cares are banished, sorrows gone; 
Nature wrapt in golden light 
Inspires laughter, joy and song. 

I wander thru the woods each night, 
Down the winding, leafy lane. 
Each turn anew reveals delight 
In the song-bird's sweet refrain. 

J. H. ROSENGREN, '25. 


Pale-pearl darkness, hushed, expectant, 
Summer midnight in the Northland — 
Cooling midnight, calming midnight. 
Breathing, pulsing, living Midnight — 
Thru which ran a restless river 
Rushing forward, ever forward, 
'Till it met the roaring rapids. 
'Till it foamed and frothed and fretted 
As it leaped the glist'ning rock shapes. 
On the steep bank of the rapids 
Stood a swarthy, spear-straight pine tree. 
Cold, assured and dominating, 
Proud in pride and high in hauteur. 
But which shaded, loved and cared for 
A small flower at its foothold. 
Growing there in glowing beauty 
Stood a slender, swaying flower 
In the half-light half revealed, 
In the half-night half concealed. 
On the jagged, jetting rock bank 
It stood unafraid, but swaying 
From the silvery mist that covered 
Stem and flower, leaves and petals. 
Newly opened was the poppy, 
Freshly fragrant, crimson colored, 
VplvPt eyprl and velvet petalled. 
Tiny mist drops gayly decked it 
With a thousand sparkling diamonds, 
Sparkling as the unseen star-worlds, 
Sparkling as the new-ground sword blade; 
But the mist drops drew together, 
Formed in heavy, massive legions, 
Drawing down the haughty flower 
Toward the swirling, whirling waters. 
But they fell, the allied mist drops 
Down into maternal water. 
T"p the high-held head once more shot 
Fresher, braver, battle-tempered, 
Scatt'ring fell, deceitful diamonds, 

Gazing up into the vague sky. 
But again the mist drops gathered, 
Again, ever beaten, vanquished. 
But persistent, keen, and ruthless, 
They returned as soon as conquered. 
All the night the conflict wavered, 
All the night the poppy struggled, 
All the night the bloom resisted. 
Then as from the gilded skyline 
Warning fingers daybreak outflung. 
From the dark and gloomy pine tree 
Fell a crystal drop of water, 
Whence it grew by added mist drops. 
Down it fell into the poppy, 
Which was low-bent, nearly vanquished 
By the never banished mist drops. 
On the sunken, silken flower, 
Drooping over hungry waters, 
Fell the drop, great, heavy, fatal. 
From the slim and swaying stem-base 
Fell the flower, still fresh, crimson, 
Whirling down to whirling waters, 
Tired, beaten, but that only 
By the tree which long had shaded 
The still budded, sleeping flower. 
When the flower had awakened, 
Richly red and fraught with life-blood, 
Then the sponsor tree was jealous 
When contrasting the gay blossom 
With its own and sombre clothing, 
With its dark and sable garments. 
Rapids roared a trifle louder 
And the sun rose, sov'reign, golden, 
As the five red petals scattered 
On the foam-flecked, furious water 
And were sucked to dire destruction 
Just below the spear-straight pine tree, 
Which stood black against the sun-disk. 

M. S. LlNDEBERG, '25. 


AUTHORITIES far sager than I 
have proclaimed that "Cleanliness 
is next to Godliness,'" and as a corollary 
to this, I would add that beauty also is 
akin to Godliness. For whether we 
accept as an explanation of man's most 
remote ancestry the theory of evolution 
or the theory of the "fallen angel," still 
we must admit, — faced by the irrefutable 
evidences of the ages — that man, in either 
case, has endeavored to attain a degree 
of God-like perfection which was not 
already his. 

As the first and most necessary step 
in mounting the heights of Olympus, he 
has sought world-enveloping beauty, 
which he truly surmised to be nearest to a 
state of flawlessness. We find the Spar- 
tans failing, however, when they tried to 
limit this to mere physical beauty — the 
velvet ripple of steel-like muscles, the 
lithesome grace of a finely-flexed body, 
the haughty lift of a nobly proportioned 
head,- — but the problem seemed to be 
solved when at length it began to dawn 
on the horizon of man's intelligence that 
beauty is not a superficial quality, but a 
warm, heart-easing fragrance which ema- 
nates from the mind and from the spirit, 
and that that universal harmony, which 
is man's goal, can be gained only through 
the generosity of these organs in bestow- 
ing freely and indiscriminately whatever 
graces and virtues are theirs. 

But alas, this solution, also, is readily 
seen to have been insufficient when we 
look about us in baffled wonder and dis- 
cover a pitiful "Upsidonia" instead of 
the "Utopia" painted by our 'mad" 

Back of man's failure to grasp the lofty 
plane which he has essayed, back of his 
dismal defeat in attempting to gain a 
gracious comeliness in his every detail, 

is a fundamental error. In struggling 
for our coveted paradise, we have found 
the right door — which is beauty; we 
have the right key — which is the gen- 
erous distribution of whatever loveliness 
of character we possess; but we are em- 
ploying the wrong method of turning the 
lock. We are using as a guide to our 
actions the fact that we get out of life 
exactly what we put into it. But this, 
although undoubtedly true, has its foun- 
dations on an even more basic principle; 
that is, that we put into life exactly 
what we take out of it. Before we can 
invest anything in the existence of our- 
selves or of others, we must first have 
something to invest, and this something 
we may obtain only from what our sur- 
roundings or environment offers. 

Of late, specialists have advised the 
cultivation of inward beauty, and con- 
sequently superficial exquisiteness, 
through association with inviting things. 
Working on the principle, "Among the 
gods, godly," they suggest not the Coue 
method of steadfast reiteration to de- 
velop the desired attributes, but they 
prescribe an environment composed only 
of delightful objects. 

However, their well-intentioned counsel 
is frustrated by the simple physical fact 
that just as the entire sun may be ob- 
scured by a single finger held before the 
eye, so is the worid of beauty hidden by 
the finger of press. 

Several reformers, in the usual petty, 
microscopic way of reformers, have de- 
termined upon the ''Mother Goose 
Rhymes" as the cause of the criminal 
tendencies of the present day. They 
have overlooked the obvious in searching } 
and have found the ridiculous. 

Full as the newspapers are of indescrib- 
able incidents, of hideous murders, of 



sordid tragedies, of obscene trials, there 
are no more potent factors in tarnishing 
the pleasing, the inspiring aspects of 
man's existence. 

Constant reading of the most conserva- 
tive daily papers is apt to influence even 
the optimistic mind so that it regards 
the world as a brutal place, and each of 
its inmates a fit subject for a "Rogues' 

If the news sheets produce this result 
on the more mature minds, then their 
harmful effect upon the juvenile intelli- 
gence must be incalculable. For almost 
invariably those criminal cases which 
are recorded in our daily journals are so 
treated that they either make ridiculous 
the judge and jury, — the exponents of 
justice, — or they arouse sympathy for 
the offender. They treat the law- 
breaker, not as an enemy of society, but 
as a reckless devil-may-care fellow whose 
offence is to be overlooked, even emu- 
lated. We pardon the "Robin Hood" 
of our favorite book because of the mo- 
tive which actuated his robberies, but 
there is no such alleviating fact to justify 
leniency in regard to our criminals. 
Such a merciful course encourages others 
to fall into crime. But recently an 
audacious boy stole a car, outwitted the 
police, and terrorized the pedestrians of 
various streets by his wild driving. De- 
spite this fact, huge crowds, instead of 
rigorously endeavoring to apprehend the 
youth, thronged the sidewalks, in awe 
and admiration, for a sight of him. 
Furthermore, the newspapers lauded and 
excused, rather than deprecated, his con- 
duct. Immediately, several young men, 
greedy for the notoriety which their 
fellow had received, attempted to repro- 
duce his antics, with sorry results. 
Thus through the mild handling of one 
law-breaker, several others were en- 

Although seven or eight columns are 
devoted to the story and pictures of a 
crime, tales of good or heroic deeds are 
found in a minute item on the eleventh 
sheet. The relative importance of right 
and wrong is proportionally distorted in 
such an arrangement. What is fair is 
reduced to a minimum space, and what is 
heinous is elaborated to occupy a huge 
section of the paper. 

Nor do the newspaper men feel re- 
stricted to the truth in any way. Presi- 
dent Coolidge, though perhaps not so 
emphatically, recently corroborated Oscar 
Wilde, who said, "Reporters are the 
most magnificent liars in the world." 
Nor was he far wrong, for if they do not 
actually lie, they certainly have powerful 

Furthermore, in a far larger sense, the 
impressions created by our papers are 
false. Their perverted view of justice 
and of wrong-doing, their gruesome 
dwelling on hideous details, their blithe 
disregard of facts for the sake of a vivid 
picture, in no way portrays the normal, 
average man and the normal, average 
life of the countiy. For every criminal 
exploited in our papers there are several 
thousand righteous, law-abiding citizens, 
who are consciously endeavoring to per- 
form their duties. The concept of an 
American, formed in the mind of one who 
judges solely by the "dailies," must be a 
cross between a divorce-seeking Bolshevik 
and a corrupt politician. At best, such 
an image is a rank imposture, deceitful 
fraud, of man and of his ideals; at worst, 
it is a base insult to that vast majority 
of Americans who form the political, 
industrial, and moral backbone of the 
United States. 

Though the editors may cry that they 
are forced to publish filth because the 
public demands it, their course is no more 
justifiable than that of a young mother 



who gives green apples to her baby 
merely because the child desires them. 
Colic is induced by both actions, and 
"newspaper" colic is far more fatal to a 
country than is "green-apple" colic to an 

I once knew a boy who positively de- 
voured the caterpillars right off the trees. 
You may rest assured that he was not 
encouraged in this practice, any more 
than the world should be encouraged in 
the filth-eating habit. 

A giant sifting process must be brought 
into play upon our newspapers, to strain 
out the few grains of truth contained 
therein, and to cast away the leprous mass 
of detail. Thus, and only thus, may the 
blinders of hate and vice be withdrawn 
from "my brother's eye," so that he may 
once more see and delight in the true 
world of beauty — of faith in his fellow- 

Grace Potter, '25. 

jFotlkeFg — Ag They Aren 9 tt 

OH, Sis can't I do this for you? Do 
you want me to take that upstairs? 
I see the woodbox is empty, I guess I'll 
get some more wood — I'll chop a lot so 
Dad won't have to do it tonight. I 
might as well bring up some coal, 

Do you want me to take you out and 
show you how to drive the car? Take 

your time about getting ready; we're 
not in any hurry. You needn't bring 
any money for gas, I still have enough 

You are beginning to drive pretty well 
now, I don't think I could handle the car 
so well when I was learning to drive. 
You get around the corners nicely and 
you certainly can handle the brakes! 

g — Ag They Are 

What do you think I am, a lady's 
maid? Can't you take that up yourself? 
You're not busy. Gee, that wood box is 
empty again. What do you do, burn a 
cord at a time? And the coal hod — I just 
filled it up two second's ago, and it's 
perfectly empty now! 

Yes, 111 take you out and show you 
how to drive the old boat. Only, I hope 
you don't blame me if we get stuck with- 
out gas — I'm not going to buy your gas. 
Hurry up if your coming, I haven't got 
all day to drive you around. 

Heaven! one would think you'd never 
been in an automobile before! Look out 
for that car coming up there. The 
brake! bra-a-ke can't you hear me? 
Don't you know enough to use the brake 
when its needed? Stop zig-zagging all 
over the road. What do you take the 
corners so sharp for? And is that the 
way you should get into high speed? The 
spark — you've got it retarded! I told 
you half an hour ago to advance it. 
Heavens! you certainly are dumb! Come 
on home! 

J. M. Saelen, '25. 

[y Gcxodl Luck 

Did you ever go to the movie show 
When the play was wonderfully true, 

And say, "I'll get by to-morrow, I know, 
If only two lessons I do"? 



You stayed till the show was ended, 
And then to a dance you went. 
At twelve-fifteen you went to bed 
And yon felt like a copper cent. 

"Oh, good!" you cried, as you rose next 

Though your head was swirling with pain. 
"There'll not be any school today," 
For in torrents fell the rain. 

L. Wenzel, '25. 



WITHOUT the slightest hope of 
ever climbing up to the star 
whereon my ambition is perched, I am 
now going to enumerate my many hopes 
and desires. This enumeration, however, 
is not for the mere pleasure of placing 
my desires on paper, but for the most 
difficult task of getting people interested 
in my hopes so that perhaps I may have 
some aid in striving for them. 

As a boy of six my ambitions were 
few but, nevertheless, eagerly desired. 
First, I wanted to have a free pass to 
an ice cream and candy store. Many 
hours and even days, especially rainy 
ones, I spent in just imagining what I 
would do if this prayed-for pass were 
given to me. In fact, I believed heaven 
to be an enormous soda fountain, where 
little boys could get all the ice cream they 
wanted without paying for it. My only 
other great desire at this time was to be 
a fireman. My poor mother's imagina- 
tion must have been overworked trying 
to think up enough tales of firemen to 
satisfy my curiosity. Great were the 
thrills that used to come to me when the 
fire bells rang, for then I would hitch up 
my fire horse, that is, fasten a rope to 
my dog's collar, and dash madly down 
the street to some imaginary fire. 

At the age of ten my ambition changed. 
No longer did I wish to be a fireman, 
l)ii t I wished to be a man of the woods, a 
second Daniel Boone. All my time was 
now spenl in reading of the mighty men 

of the frontier who had subdued the cruel 
redskins. Soon, however, I had ex- 
hausted the library's supply of literature 
on this fascinating subject, and so 
naturally I turned to the moving pic-, 
tures. Here, I was satisfied not merely 
by the pictures themselves, but by my 
own reproduction upon returning home. 
Still my idea of heaven remained un- 

The next change in my desires occurred 
at the age of fifteen. I then wanted to 
be an explorer, a wanderer of the great- 
open spaces "where men are men." 
Night after night I pondered over maps 
trying to find some place that I could 
discover «,nd thus write my name on the 
unforgetable pages of history. 

Now at the mature age of eighteen and 
at the particular time in my life when I 
am sure to know more than in any other, 
that is my senior year in high school, I 
place my ambitions before the people 
as a model from which they can shape 
their own. My other purpose in writing 
them is so that in fifty years from now 
I can read them and consider just how far 
I have fallen short] or perhaps succeeded, 
in passing my goal. In this coming 
vacation I want to work in a lawyer's 
office at a salary of at least twenty-five 
dollars a week, and here I want to get a 
clear understanding of just what this 
profession consists of and to learn whether 
I am fitted for it or not. 

In September I want to enter Flarvard 



College and to begin to prepare for my 
life's battle. At the end of my four 
years in college, I want to have been 
graduated with honors, to have won the 
"H" in some sport, and to have been 
the leader of the banjo-mandolin club 
in my senior year. The next two years 
I hope to spend in Harvard Law School, 
from which I should greatly desire to be 
graduated "magna cum laude." 

Now begins life's struggle. 

Immediately after leaving Harvard 
Law, I want to enter some well-known 
firm of lawyers, preferably in New York. 
At first I do not expect to be well paid; 
in fact I do expect to be poorly paid, 
However, if hard work is an increaser of 
the pay envelope, at the end of the first 
year I hope to be receiving a good salary. 
At the end of my second year I should 
like to put out my own little shingle, 
and as my partner I should like to have 
one of the class of 1925, but of course 
one cannot have every little whim satisfied 
on the great battle-fields of life. 

I^Jow, after having gained my own little 
office, I should specialize in the defense 
of criminals. This I consider one of the 
greatest things that a man can do for 

society. I am not referring to the hard- 
ened criminal, but to the defense of the 
one who has just made his first slip. 
Then is the time, in my mind, when the 
unfortunate one can be cured of his dis- 
honest tastes if he ever can. 

At the age of thirty-five I should like to 
enter politics, and, if possible, to be 
elected to the Senate within the next 
ten years. Politics I propose to make my 
chief work. I believe that more can be 
done for the middle and poor classes 
through straightforward and honest poli- 
tics than through any other way. My 
chief aim will be to see if it is not possible 
to free politics from graft and other dis- 
honest methods of doing things. This, 
I believe, is a real job. Many men 
have tried to correct them before and 
have failed. Perhaps I shall fail, but 
at least I shall have had the satisfaction 
of having done my best. 

These are my ambitions as they were 
several years ago and as they are at 
present. I hope that they do not change 
very much within the next few years, as 
I think that I have plenty to do with 
these alone. 

Ernest Molloy, '25. 

The Sea 

Give me the sea or lonely shore, 
With billows crested white, 

The storms which rove its surface o'er, 
Or sunbeams dancing bright. 

The breakers bursting on the strand 

Are music to my ear ; 
The craggy cliffs and golden sand. 

Each — all to me are dear! 

E. Cobb, '25 

IS education doing its utmost to develop 
the growing generation? 
The tendency of the school of the 
present day is to resist change; to go on 
doing things as they were always done. 

Probably one of the greatest problems 
that a progressive person has to over- 
come is the old stand-by of the conserva- 
tive, "It was good enough for my father, 
so it is good enough for me." When 



education is controlled by the older 
generation there is always a tendency 
to be conservative. The teachers of the 
older generation are likely to stress the 
past, therefore making progress slow. 
Many of the old classical teachers resist 
the newer methods of teaching the classi- 
cal languages. 

For thirty years religious leaders have 
urged that the study of economics and 
sociology be introduced as part of the 
training for the ministry. But as yet, 
the religious seminaries, with a few ex- 
ceptions, have not included these sub- 
jects in their curriculum. As a result 
of this lack of forethought upon the part 
of the supervisors of the seminaries, the 
clergy are losing influence because of 
their ignorance of the moral issues of the 

To illustrate further that there is a 
tendency to resist change in our educa- 
tional system, I am going to quote from 
Williamson's book on "Problems in 
American Democracy." "The more com- 
plex the needs of daily life, the greater 
the necessity of shifting emphasis in 
education. But in thus shifting the 
emphasis in education we must be careful 
not to disturb the balance between cul- 
tural and practical subjects." 

Some of the educators of the older 
generation might well be compared with 
the Chinese people. The Chinese are 
taught to believe that what was good 
enough for their ancestors is good enough 
for them. Why even to-day the Chinese 
use the same type of plow that their 
ancestors used for tilling the ground. 

The Chinese government at one time 
would not let any Americans land in their 
country, because they feared that these 
people from the west would attempt to 
change their ancient customs. 

If those of the older generation do not 
keep up with the times, they are apt to have 

a serious problem facing them: namely, 
the disobedience of the younger genera- 
tion. Indeed, the children of America 
are considered the worst in the world. 
But this disobedience, taken from the 
point of view of progress, is a very favor- 
able sign, because it denotes that the 
younger generation is thinking for 
itself and are not taking for granted 
the opinions of the past. 

The old savage idea was to force obedi- 
ence upon the younger generation. When 
but a boy of about twelve years, the 
young savage is taken in hand by the 
elders of the tribe and submitted to great 
physical torture. This cruel treatment 
breaks the spirit of the young savage, 
so that he has no desire to leave his 
tribe, but remains with his people and 
conforms to their way of living and 

Of course we do not use such drastic 
methods to-day in order to force obedi- 
ence, but there is that tendency to curb 
the young, and resist change. 

Education should help the child to 
think for himself. If the child is not 
compelled to think for himself in school, 
he will not be able to think for himseif 
after he has left school. Education 
should help the child to cultivate a 
desire for more knowledge and also a 
desire to see the world as it is. 

One thing that must be considered is 
that the "needs and capacities" of the 
pupils are not alike. Mr. Dalton was 
one of the first men in this country to 
realize this fact. He therefore estab- 
lished a new system of education whereby 
a pupil was able to obtain more individual 
instruction than was ever afforded him 
by the other systems. This system of 
education has been established in some 
of our western schools, and has proved 
a great success. 

It has been said many times by an un- 



thinking public that the schools of this 
country do not present to the pupils 
subjects which will enable them to earn 
a better living after their education has 
been completed. It is sometimes very 
difficult for parents to see why a pupil 
should study a foreign language, if he 
is not going to make use of this knowledge 
in earning a living. Because of the 
growing demand that the schools give 
more practical courses, many of the 
schools have had woodworking and 
printing shops installed. 

But in trying to be more practical, the 
schools are likely to lose sight of the 
fact that education should develop the 
cultural as well as the industrial side 
of life. 

The school system in the United States 
has been expanding so rapidly that in 
many states the schools are not suffi- 
ciently supported by the taxpayers. 
In the year 1915 there were over two 
hundred thousand one-room schoolhouses 
in the United States. So you can see 
that there are as yet, many conservatives 
in control of education. 

Jt seems a crime to me that such con- 
ditions as these should be allowed to 
exist in a country that is reputed to be 
the richest in the world. 

The United States government has 
tried to better these conditions somewhat 

by the passing of various legislation on 
education. Probably the most out- 
standing legislation is the Smith-Hughes 
Act, that was passed in February, 1917. 

This act provided that a Federal Board 
for Vocational Education be established. 
"Each state accepting the provisions of 
the act must provide a state board to 
control a system of vocational schools. 
Each state must also agree to appropriate, 
either through the state or locally, an 
amount of money for teachers' salaries 
equivalent to the sum received from the 
Federal board. Such states must also 
agree to provide proper buildings and 
meet running expenses of the system." 

The government appropriated more 
than a million and a half dollars the first 
year. This sum will be increased each 
year until the year 1925-26. Then the 
states will receive seven million dollars 
from the United States government in 
order to help support vocational educa- 

The passing of this act shows that the 
thinking men of America realize what a 
great part education plays in the welfare 
of this country. 

It is my most sincere hope that Nor- 
wood will show herself to be a progressive 
town and be in the forefront in accepting 
new plans of education that may be 
advanced in the coming years. 

Chester Bailey, '25. 

As I worked by myself, 
And talked to myself, 

Myself said unto me : 
"Try for thyself, 
You must try for thyself, 

For nobody tries for thee." 

I answered myself, 
And said to myself, 

In the self-same repartee: 
"Try for thyself, 
Or try not for thyself, 

The self-same thing will be." 

Bertha Hershenson, '27. 



THE phrase that has entered the dis- 
cussion of military affairs not only 
in America but in all the European coun- 
tries, since the Armistice, is that of "the 
next war.'" This phrase has already fur- 
nished the theme for books in all European 
languages, thereby proving that it is a 
very important one and is worth our 

It is impossible to prophesy what na- 
tions or combinations of nations might 
oppose forces in that "next war." For 
example, before the World War, who 
could have foretold the future course of 
Russia? Many European statesmen be- 
lieved that Holland, Switzerland or even 
Spain might enter the great war, while 
only a very few counted on the United 
States entering the war, and yet the 
United States proved to be the deciding 
factor in war and peace. Who foresaw 
the American flag flying over the mighty 
fortress of Ehrenbreitstein at Coblenz? 
It would therefore be foolish for any per- 
son, even for the wisest and best informed 
statesman, to prophesy the partakers in 
the coming war. This question involves 
economics, internal politics, religion, sud- 
den outbreaks of mob mind, shifts of 
population, and the rise of leaders as yet 
unknown, and since it is so complex, it 
renders forecast impossible. 

It is infinitely easier to forecast the 
methods and strategies in future wars. 
But to see the future we must at least 
glance at the past. During the World 
War, not only did the character of war- 
fare change, but its whole relation to 
peoples and to human life. Mr. Irwin 
says that an understanding of the differ- 
ence between old wars and "the next 
war" is essential to an understanding of 
the present struggle between militarism 
and reasonable pacifism, between the 

aristocratic ideal of society and the demo- 
cratic, between those who believe in that 
•next war and those who are groping 
toward a state of society which will 
abolish war. 

The primitive savage often got the 
woman, the ox or the stone knife which 
he wanted simply by killing the possessor. 
With the organization of society, groups 
and tribes began to do the same thing as 
a means of acquiring live stock, wives, 
slaves, or territory. We do the same 
thing to-day as a means of acquiring 
natural resources such as oil, coal, iron, 
gold, silver, etc. The side which has 
the right is hardly ever the victor, but 
instead, the side which is the most skilled 
in war and which has the greater number 
of men. 

"The next war" will probably involve 
almost all nations. The burden of taxa- 
tion will weigh heavier and ever heavier 
on the common man and woman. A 
superdreadnought like the Indiana cost 
$5,800,000 when built. The latest super- 
dreadnoughts cost at least $40,000,000, 
which amount of money could be used in 
building more schools and supplying 
more and better teachers, or at least in 
some good purpose. Every day inven- 
tions are being made, the use of which will 
help us to kill off our brother, such as 
huge bombs which have increased in size 
from about a foot in length to a bomb 
ten feet in length and carrying an explo- 
sive charge of one ton. During the last 
war, whole communities were obliged to 
carry gas masks at all times. In the 
next war, innumerable men, women, and 
children may be obliged to wear not only 
gas masks, but gas-proof suits covering 
the entire body, as a protection against 
the new cell-killing gases that have been 
invented. Another device for the win- 



ning of the next war will be that of the 
bomb-carrying aeroplane — a war of aero- 
planes loaded with gas shells. The new 
warfare will not only strike at armies but 
at the heart of the matter — peoples. The 
aeroplanes will drop down tons of small 
bombs which release burning phosphor- 
ous, which flame cannot be extinguished 
by water. 

As to the expense of the next war no one 
can estimate. The cost of all warfare 
from 1793, when the Napoleonic Wars 
began, to 1910 was about 23 billions, 
whereas the World War alone cost 186 
billions. The money the World War 
cost for a single hour during the last year 
of fighting would have built ten high 
schools costing one million dollars each. 
The money it cost for a single day would 
build in each of the forty-eight states 
two hospitals costing $500,000 each; 
two $1,000,000 high schools in each state; 
300 recreation centers with gymnasiums 
and swimming pools costing $300,000 
each; and there would be left $6,000,000 
to promote industrial education. 

$240,000,000 was the total cost per day 
for all countries. This includes only 
direct costs, not the destruction of civil 
property. What will the next war 

This is not the only striking story of the 
World War. The war's toll of men was 
a more dreadful story. Of the more than 

The gayest looking books, sometimes, 
Are not the best one reads ; 
For oft in garb of sober hue 
Are tales of knightly deeds. 

Arithmetics are often bound 

In red so bright and gay ; 

"Tom Sawyer," though, and books like 

Are sometimes dressed in gray. 

50,000,000 men called to arms from the 
occupations of peace, nearly every other 
man was either killed or wounded. 
20,000,000 were wounded or taken pris- 
oners, while 13,000,000 poor souls gave 
their lives. How many souls will perish 
in the next war? 

What should be our American attitude 
toward military preparation? The aver- 
age practical American will perhaps say 
that if war has grown so deadly, it is all 
the more reason why we should prepare 
to defend ourselves. Without defence, 
we stand in peril of general extinction; 
with defence, we may avert war at least 
for a time, may soften the blow when 
it comes. Let us prepare then, says the 
American citizen, not for conquest, or 
"fulfilment of national aspirations," but 
for defence. The money appropriated 
by the United States for military pre- 
paredness has been much more after the 
war than before the war, in fact about 
five times as much. For the last few 
years over ninety per cent of the govern- 
mental tax has gone to military purposes 
and only a very small amount for the 
betterment of education and relief work. 

War seems deeply rooted in human 
institutions. It is very easy to stir up 
hate and so hard to create understandings. 
Can we not eliminate war? This remains 
to be solved. 

John Anderson, '25. 

In vivid blues the spellers come, 
And songs wear brown and black. 
Oh! why must covers be alike, 
The same for front and back? 

I'd like to print some books myself; 
I'd have the covers show 
The proper tints, so at a glance, 
What books were what, you'd know. 

Dorothy Thompson, '26, 



Dialogue Between a Housewife and a Book Agent 

Time of Dialogue — Mondaj" morning, 
with the weekly washing in progress. 

Book Agent — "Good-morning — ah — er 
—Mrs. Brown'?" 

Housewife — "Xo. This is Mrs. Jones." 

B. A. — "Well now, Mrs. Jones, I sup- 
pose that's your little boy playing ball. 
Smart little chap isn't he?" 

Mrs. J. — "Oh yes, he was on the first 
honor roll last term." 

B. A.— "Aha! I thought so. Now our 
house has made an investigation, and do 
you know, we find that it is books — 
books in the home — which help the 
student of to-day more than anything 
else " 

Mrs. J.— "Yes, I suppose they do." 

B. A. — "Now I have here a set of 
Encylopedias and we guarantee that the 
student can find the answer to any ques- 
tion he may be asked. They are worth 
twice as much, but we are letting you 
have them for fifty dollars." 

Mrs. J. — "But we already have a set 
of Thompson's Histories." 

B. A. — "Histories — what are they? A 
mere nothing. Why, you can find more 
knowledge in one of these Encyclopedias 
than you can find in the whole set of 

Mrs. J. — "But I m afraid my husband 
would object." 

B. A.— "Well, I'll tell you. We don't 
usually, but I'll let you have them and 
then if he doesn't want them, I'll come 
again to-morrow and you can have your 
money refunded." 

Mrs. J. — "Er — but really, I'm afraid I 
cannot afford them." 

B. A.— "Oh, that's easily fixed. You 
pay me ten dollars now, and then one 
dollar a week until the balance is paid" — 
but he was talking to air now, for the 
door had been banged shut! 

Julia Connolly, '25. 

Algy Gets Enough 

IX the first place, John Algernon 
Winthrop had been forbidden to 
play with the cobbler's boy. In the 
second place, be had no business playing 
leapfrog on the front lawn when he knew 
his father was due to pass by at any 

John Algernon went to bed that night 
with an empty stomach, empty except for 
the cookies that he had stolen when his 
mother had gone for the birch limb. So, 
with a relatively empty stomach and a 
sore -pot on bis body, John Algernon lay 
awake plotting all sorts of dire punish- 
ment upon his parents, to befall after he 
had run away and become chief of police. 

His vengeful thoughts were interrupted 

by a tap on the windowpane. John 
Algernon promptly sat up and listened 
— another tap. With a silence and 
swiftness that would have been a credit 
to Nick Carter himself, John Algernon 
got out of bed and tiptoed across the 

He opened the window softly and 
emitted a sharp "T-ss-ss." From the 
darkness far below, came an answering 

It was a warm summer night and John 
Algernon did not see any need of dressing: 
so. attired only in a flopping nightgown, 
he rescued a rope from under a pile of fire 
engines in his closet. Tying this to the 
bed post and letting the end of it trail 



out the window, he made his nocturnal 

As his groping feet touched firm ground, 
another white-clad form emerged from 
the shadows. A muffled voice broke the 

"'Lo, Algy. D' yer git licked?" 

"'Lo, Sam. Yeh," answered John 
Algernon, the cultured boy. "It hurt like 
time, too," he added ruefully, rubbing 
the hurt spot. "What you laffm' at?" 
This last in a suspicious, truculent 

"No thin'," answered the cobbler's boy, 
coughing. "C'mon, Mom left the cookies 
an' pie in the back hall." 

Although Sam's face twitched and 
quirked, and Algy seemed on the point 
of forcing a crisis, the journey to the 
farmer's home was made in peace. Sam 
softly pushed open the back door, and 
the youthful burglers entered. 

"They're on the sill," hissed Sam. 

When the boys were halfway across 
the hall, John Algernon whirled swiftly. 
His right hand slapped against his thigh, 
shot upward. "Bang!" he hissed, as he 
crooked his index finger inward. 

"'Smatter?" asked Sam, impatiently. 

"Got him," muttered Algy. "It wast 
'Sure-Shot Slim.' He was pottin' at us 
from that currant bush," pointing to the 
ice chest. 

Sam only sniffed. 

They continued their stealthy progress. 
Each boy reached the sill at the same 
time, and each reached for the cookie 
jar at the same time, which resulted dis- 
astrously for all concerned. The jar 
struck the floor with a crash, and the 
tempers of both boys flared instantly. 

"Butter fingers!" snapped Algy. 

"Butter fingers yerself!" snapped back 

A miniature war would surely have 
ensued, had not a voice from the inner 

regions of the house stiffened them. It 
was shrill, frightened, the voice of a 

"You'd better take your gun, Sam: 
there's no tellin' what they'd do!" This 
was followed by a heavy tread on the 
stair. There was no doubt that Sam's 
father was coming. 

By the time big Sam had entered the 
hall, little Sam and Algy were safety 
ensconsed behind the currant bush, 
breathing softly. For a breathless . mo- 
ment big Sam stood blinking in the door- 
wa} r . Then : 

"Haw! Haw! The fool cat knocked 
over the cookie jar." And, still chuck- 
ling, he went back to allay the fears of 
Mrs. Sam and to go to bed. 

"That was a close call," mumbled 
Algy later, his mouth full of pie. 

"All your fault, too," mumbled back 


"Aw, shet up! We ain't done yet. 
We've got to get even with old man Flint 
for sickin' his dog on us. Gosh! Don't 
you never get tired eatin'?" 

"Didn't have no supper," grinned 

"Gettin' even" with "old man" Flint 
was a trifle contrary to Algy's mother's 
ideas of culture; or it would have been, 
but for the watchfulness of the canine 
guardian of the Flint residence. Just 
as Sam and Algy were stealthily creeping 
up onto the back porch of the aforesaid 
residence, the deathly silence was shat- 
tered by a series of sharp barks and the 
patter of feet across the yard. 

What the main street of Thunderbolt 
saw when it threw open its windows a 
few minutes later would have been funny, 
had it not been a life and death matter. 
Two flying figures, white coverings flop- 
ping behind them like flags on a windy 
day, and a yelping bull dog scarcely three 



jumps behind, seemed to be the main 

What made the boys turn into the 
main street they could never tell. But 
there they were, with a determined 
menace in their rear, and enemies on 
each side. It was Algy who saved the 
day. With a gasp he caught Sam's arm, 
and putting all his strength into a final 
spurt, he turned into an alley and cleared 
the fence at its end in a single leap. 

When he scrambled to his feet, he 
found Sam still at his side. The dog was 
yelping on the opposite side of the fence. 

"I — I lost m — my windpipe," gasped 
Sam, as he hobbled along. "I cuh — can't 

"' mon! In these barrels, quick!" 
was Algy's only answer. 

They were now out of sight of the alley, 
but the}' could hear people running and 
shouting. Without further delay they 
secreted themselves in two of the barrels 
which stood in a long row along the back 
of a store, and replaced the covers over 

Although Sam and Algy fretted and 
fumed, it was a full hour before the town 
quieted down and the last of the people 
seemed to have given up the search. 
Then the two causes of the uproarious 
disturbance stepped forth from their 
hiding places. Without wasting precious 
time in idle conservation, each set out for 
his home. 

They had had enough for one night. 

Joseph Moore, '26. 

The Joy of Liviini| 

When the lark proclaims his throbbing joy 
In giddy whirl and headlong dive, 
And his notes like golden feathers drift, 
Then ah, it's good to be alive! 

When the forked lightning darts, 
And the elements contend in strife, 
I stand upon a hill's high brow, 
And breathe a deep, "Ah, this is life!'* 

Elizabeth Maloney, '25. 

The Hardships 

YES, I am one of many, but I have 
had a wide experience for one of 
my size. I am "Just David." My 
abode is the Morrill Memorial Library. 
It is a nice, jolly sort of place and quite 
luxurious considering the large number of 
inmates that dwell there. Each one has 
a limited amount of spare, but we never 
get crowded, for we keep in such good 
oider. This may seem somewhat sur- 
prising; nevertheless, we do it. Why, we 
never even talk above a whisper! Many 
people visit us and our home. Most of 
the visitors appear to enjoy our company, 
although there are some exceptions. 

I have traveled extensively during my 
life, as most of us do; I have visited many 
people and have been taken into their 
homes. But in all my travels, I have not 
yet found a place that is more dear to 
me than my library home. I think it is 
because I've lived there since childhood. 

When I'm away, I sometimes get home- 
sick and lonesome and long for my 
library companions. It depends on the 
way my hosts and hostesses treat me. 
There is one thing they never do; that is, 
to talk to me, which is quite a pity, and 
is very impolite on their part. However, 
they must take some interest in me by 



the careful way in which they look me 

Another thing which is very annoying 
is that they pay not the slightest attention 
to me when I complain. They seem to 
believe that I can endure everything — 
heat, cold, dirt, rain, snow, sun, wind, 
pencil marks, and wounds and bruises 
of all sorts. 

Several times I've thought seriously 
of buying myself a microphone and send- 
ing out a relief code to see if some kind- 
hearted creature would not come to my 
rescue; but those were in times of un- 
bearable agony — such as when I was left 
all night in the company of a saucy China- 
man, who blew smoke in my face for an 
hour or so and then laughed at me with 
his mouth wide open, until at last morning 
came and a thoughtful maid carried me 
to a different room. And another time 
I was left on the pantry shelf and a bag 
of Spanish onions sat on me. I was 
heartily resentful of this, even if 'twas 
only for one afternoon; and when the 
woman came after me, I dropped myself 
on the floor just to make her bend over 
to pick me up again. It hurt, but just 
the same I felt more satisfied. 

People always tire of me at the end of 
two weeks. They never pay me for my 
services if they don't keep me longer than 
that. It's very discouraging; but all 
my companions have to go through the 
same circumstances. I suppose we aren't 
so aristocratic as the glass-door books, 
but I know there is a book whose name 
is exactly the same as mine and he 

lives behind glass doors, for my next door 
neighbor said she saw him while on a 
visit and at first she thought it was I. 

The most, romantic of my experiences 
occurred about a month ago, while I was 
visiting a rich boy. I was left outside 
some glass doors behind which lived the 
aristocratic set. They fairly turned up 
their noses in disgust when they saw me. 
I was lying on my back looking up at 
them. I noticed one very attractive 
young book with a red cover and gilt 
edges by the name of "Polly-Anna." I 
was immediately impressed by her. She 
was less sophisticated than the rest and 
condescended to speak to me, inquiring 
who I was and how I happened to be 

I told her my whole story — -how I had 
longed to live behind glass doors and ex- 
perience that select and egotistical feel- 
ing. "You wouldn't like it if you had 
always lived here." she said. "It is 
close, stuffy and dull. I never see any- 
thing of the world and its people except 
what I see through the east window." I 
was forced to bid her a hurried good-bye 
as the boy picked me up and started for 
the garage with me. 

The fact that I came home in style 
made no difference to me. For the first 
time I felt the pangs of remorse tearing at 
my heart, on returning to my childhood 

Alas, the gilt-edged "She" remains but 
a fading picture in my memory. 

Villa Jackman, '27. 




YOU see it happened like this: 
Sally was bound and determined to 
get her hair cut. You know Sally is my 
wife, a very good wife too, even if her 
determination does run away with her 
sometimes. Well, as I was saying, Sally 
had her mind set on getting her hair 
bobbed. She insisted that all the really 
smart women of our set had had their 
hair bobbed and shingled. Any way she 
was dreadfully tired of combing her 
raven locks each morning, and at various 
times during the day. 

You can imagine how I felt about this 
problem, you readers who are husbands. 
It positively left me mute. 

Sally is decidedly not small in propor- 
tion, in fact she is really quite a bit taller 
than I. and when she is angry, sad, or 
determined, she seems fairly to tower 
over me. Sally is a good wife, as I have 
mentioned before, and it is I who know 
that good wives are few and far between. 

One Sunday afternoon I was sitting in 
the parlor of our apartment, enjoying 
a good cigar which I had treated myself 
to. I was placidly reading the Sunday 
comic sheet, when Sally presented herself 
before me. That sixth sense of mine told 
me a great calamity was about to befall. 

I sat there in my chair eyeing Sally 
over my spectacles, and was chewing the 
butt end of my cigar in desperation be- 
cause, as I have told you, I scented some- 
thing in the wind. Whenever my sixth 
sense works, I positively know some- 
thing is about to happen. 

Sally confronted me in a surly, bold 
manner, saying, "John Henry, I'm going 
to get my hair bobbed and shingled to- 
morrow. Do you hear me?" 

"Yes, Sally," I said meekly. I've 
found from past experience that it pays 
to be meek in some circumstances. 

I looked at Sally for a moment, study- 
ing her stout features, and I was just 
going to tell her that I thought it would 
not suit her, when I noticed her hands 
were on her hips. When ever I see Sally's 
hands on her hips, it is like a danger sign 
on a railroad track giving warning of the 
approaching locomotive. I shrank back 
into my shell of silence again. 

"Well!" she said, "you look as if you 
might have something to say." 

"No, no, Sally," I stammered. "I 
think not, at least not now." 

"If you've anything to say, John Henry, 
then you say it now!" she roared. 

That roar was like a red cloth being 
waved before a mad bull. Something 
seemed to snap within my brain, some- 
thing that brought with it a new courage 
that I had never experienced before (and 
believe me never will again if I can help 

I jumped to my feet with such a crash 
that I frightened myself. I cast the 
comic sheet dramatically aside; clench- 
ing my cigar firmly in my teeth, I stood 
and orated. "Sally, as long as you are 
a wife of mine your hair shall never be 
ruined by scissors!", 

I was breathing deeply from my pas- 
sionate outburst, my hands clenched by 
my sides, in a mad endeavor to keep them 
from trembling, for truly I had never 
braved Sally before in all my life. 

Sally and I stood there face to face, 
Sally's mouth open in astonishment, and 
her eyes fairly bulging from their sockets. 
Suddenly I saw her stiffen, her eyes grow 
narrow with an uncanny gleam, and her 
fist clenched, so that her attitude was 
not unlike that of a pugilist. Sally 
seemed to grow enormous, and it was 
then I realized my mistake; but alas it 
was too late. 



Before I could say "Jack Robinson," 
Sally had grabbed me by the scruff of the 
neck; and before you could turn around 
twice, Sally and I were in one of our 

I felt my eyes growing dim while I 
tried to ward off the blows that rained on 
my head, cheeks, in fact on every part 
of my anatomy. 

Gradually I felt one eye lose its sight, 
and then slowly my other eye became 
almost as bad. With what sight Sally 
had left to me, I saw our favorite vase of 
flowers flying through the air at me. I 
had just enough remaining strength to 
duck it. I heard it crash against the 

wall and I shuddered with the thought 
of what might have happened to me. 

I think I must have sunk into oblivion, 
for I did not feel myself being transported 
to the hospital. 

Now let me give you a word of warning, 
fellows, you who have wives, or pros- 
pects of wives — never stand up and argue 
with your wife if she is bigger than you 

As I have said, Sally is a good wife, and 
deserves all she gets. But never again 
will I confront her when she is in a de- 
termined state of mind. 

Edith Macready, '25 

The Wreck of a Henry Ford 

It was a fliver, old and worn, 
That turned the country road, 
And the rattle from its ancient hulk 
Was as good as a funeral ode. 

Colder and louder came the words, 
A gale from the back seat, 
And blows began to fall on his head 
Till he landed in the street. . 

Black was its body, as dull as could be; 
Its horn, like the sign of a fog; 
And the wheels were just as wobbly 
As a balancer on a log. 

The fliver struck where the telegraph pole 
Stood as harmless as a preacher; 
But the cruel pole, it hit her side 
Like a call-down from a teacher. 

The driver sat before the wheel, 

His pipe between his teeth, 

And he quaked as the balking car did 

Tempestuously down the street. 

Her rattling windshield all smashed in, 
The hoods where the lights ought to lie, 
Like a vessel of glass, she shivered and 

"Ho, Ho!" came the old pole's cry. 

Then up and spake his ancient wife, 
Who had ridden a fliver before: 
"Come on, now; stop this worn-out craft, 
For I'm lame and sadly sore. 

At daybreak, on the dusty road, 
A farmer's blood ran cold 
To see the form of an ancient wife 
Lashed to a telegraph pole. 

"Last night I swore I'd ride no more, 
For we're bound to land in a tree!" 
The driver he blew a whiff from his pipe 
And a scornful laugh, laughed he. 

Such was the wreck of a Henry Ford 
And a wife — poor ancient soul! 
Heav'n save us all from a death like this, 
Against a telegraph pole! 

Anna Higgins, '25. 



A Tale With a Moral 

I met her in a ballroom, 
She got me with her eyes; 
Her hair was like the sunset, 
And she was just my size. 

I took her out to dinner, 
And spent 'most all my "dough"; 
She "cleaned"' me out completely, 
Till I didn't know where to go. 

She tossed me in the roadside 
For one who gave her more. 
I had been another victim 
To her charming ways of lure. 

And as my tale is ending, 
I advise you as a friend, 
To keep away from women, 
Or they'll break you in the end. 

Irving Fireman, '25. 


The blokes looking out of the window- 
The blokes looking out of the door — 
The blokes looking up at the ceiling — 

There are other blokes who do study 
And worry their heads every night 
Over how to make X equal Y 

These blokes won't get marked any more. And still get their algebra right. 

These blokes'll leave school 'fore they're 

Juniors ; 
They'll go to work for the town ; 
They'll be lugging dirt in tip carts, 
But they'll wish on books they'd glanced 


But these blokes are hopeless as athletes, 
And useless as useless can be, 
When it comes to managing teachers 
And getting an "A" for an "E." 

Henry M. Newman,'26. 

The Reformation of 

ery Joe 

UTjMRE! Fire!" Oh, how wierdly the 
*? cry rang out! All of the three 
hundred souls on board the steamship 
"Portland Belle," five hundred miles 
out to sea, were filled with dread. The 
sound rang out from every throat and 
immediately ensued a panic that threat- 
ened, for a time, to end in a serious way. 
Among the members of the crew of the 
unfortunate steamer was a man known 
the world over as "Slippery Joe." He 
wa& -hipping as a member of the crew to 
escape detection from the officials of the 
city of London, whom he knew to be 
searching from him in connection with 

his latest escapade — the killing of a 
Scotland Yard detective. 

He trembled with fear. The man who 
could face ten detectives, escape, and 
then call it a lark was afraid, for the first 
time in his life. Life certainly did look 
sweet to him just then, when his chances 
of living were not even fifty-fifty. He 
would have given his arm if he could 
have been on land, keeping a squad of 
officers at bay, rather than facing death 
by fire or water. "Ah," he thought, "if 
only I can live I swear to the Almighty 
that I will go straight from now on." 
This was a solemn vow, made on the spur 



of the moment. Would it stand the 
test of years! The answer we shall see 
in the events to follow. 

Every physically able man on the ship 
was recruited for a fire-fighting force 
and with one hundred men in line the 
fire was finally subdued, but not until 
they had fought for hours under a blazing 
sun without any rest. 

However, the ship's wireless was de- 
stroyed, the engines had been disabled, 
and, with nothing in the way of motive 
power, the ship drifted helplessly. All 
through the night they went without 
sighting a ship. The suffering on board 
was intense. Five men had died and 
several were severely burned. 

The morning sun dawned on the help- 
less ship swinging idly on the ocean. As 
far as the eye could see there was nothing 
but a vast expanse of sparkling blue 
water. At last, as the morning slowly 
passed, a ship was sighted. With diffi- 
culty it was hailed and all passengers 
on board the stricken steamer were trans- 
ferred. The burned ship was towed be- 
hind and some days later they steamed 
into New York Harbor. 

"Slippery Joe" had not been recog- 
nized owing to the grime and burns on 
his person, and as soon as he reached 
New York he disappeared. He was 
never again seen by his fellow passengers 
— as "Slippery Joe." The police of 
London are still searching for him and 
only a chosen few know this story that 
I am telling you. 

Some years later a man of perhaps 
thirty-five years of age, clean shaven, 
and very neat in appearance, stepped out 
of an office in the city of Salmon, Oregon, 
an office that on close inspection could 
be seen to bear the inscription: 


He walked briskly and finally reached 
his destination, a banquet hall. He 
was to address a company of Rotarions 
on the subject, "Crime." He was well 
fitted to talk on this matter, being a 
recognized authority on the subject, and 
he had done much to stamp out crime 
in his own city. He was greeted with 
exclamations of delight and good-will 
on all sides. Perhaps you do not 
recognize him but let us reflect for a 

It was dark. A tall figure crept 
stealthily down the gang-plank of the 
steamer "Portland Belle," which was 
tied up at a wharf in New York Harbor. 
It was the same person who on board 
had sworn that if he was saved he would 
go straight. He had escaped notice 
altogether as he made his way from the 
steamer and he effected a clean get-away. 
He chuckled with keen satisfaction at the 
thought of how he had outwitted the 
officials in getting* leave to disembark 
at such a strange hour. 

He went immediately to the Grand 
Central Station and took a train for the 
far West. He had no plans except that 
of keeping the vow which he had made — 
the resolve to go straight. He finally 
reached a favorable town and decided to 
settle there permanently. He rose 
steadily in the opinion of his fellow 
citizens and was, at last, elected mayor. 

We find him, thus, as he is about to 
address the gathering, a prominent mayor 
of a prominent city, beloved by all his 
friends and associates. His vow had 
stood the test of years. 

Wilbur C. FAy, '27. 



Mis Imlaeritomce 

JAMES HOWE trudged up the last 
hill leading to his estate with a valise 
in either hand and a look on his hand- 
some face that was anything but agree- 
able. In answer to his impatient knock 
a stately butler opened the door and 
ushered him into a dreary looking library. 
Evident!}* the butler was expecting the 
young man. and evidently he understood 
the predicament in which the young man 
found himself, for a smile almost of 
amusement crossed his face. 

"Mr. James Howe, I presume," said 
he after giving the younger man a close 

"Yes, I answer to that name, but I al- 
most wish I didn't. Why in Sam Hill did 
that consarned grandfather of mine — ?" 
He was interrupted by a shocked 
"Hush," from the butler. "Hush, you 
must not speak so when your poor grand- 
father is dead and has left you this fine 

Was this said in a shocked tone, or 
was it sarcasm that made his voice ring 
so queerly? James wondered — 

As the butler turned to leave the room 
he said, "My name is Josiah, sir, and I 
hope we shall get along nicely together. 
I will do anything I can for your comfort." 
After the door had closet 1 behind him, 
James noticed vaguely the rhythm of the 
footsteps retreating to the kitchen. It 
was trudge — trudge — trudge in almost a 
sing-song rhythm and each step seemed 
to say, "Ha-ha, ha-ha, ha-ha." 

James threw himself into a chair with 
a sigh of disgust and with an uneasy feel- 
ing creeping through him. 

Why, he wondered, had his grandfather, 
whom he had never seen, left him this 
' (State and all his money on one condition? 
Why did that one condition state that 
he live on a deserted, dreary old estate 

alone with his late grandfather's butler 
for one year before collecting the countless 
thousands of dollars he had left? 

James smiled to himself. Really, the 
situation was humorous. He, James 
Howe, known in Paris and New York as 
the careless spendthrift, the dare-devil, 
the good sport, caged up in a deserted 
house for one year with a butler of whom 
he already had his opinion! 

He recollected, how Larry and all the 
gang had laughed when he told them 
abotit it. To him it was no laughing 
matter, however. He had expected his 
grandfather to die soon and, knowing 
that he was his only heir, he had expected 
to keep on carelessly spending his grand- 
father's money after his income left by 
his parents had run out. One thing he 
had not foreseen was a condition. How- 
ever, here he was and here he must stay 
alone for one long year, unless in the 
meantime — and James Howe thought he 
might make the best of it. He arose 
and decided to explore the house. 

At dinner he remarked to the butler, 
who strangely enough dined with him, 
that the house was all right but it cer- 
tainly was dead-looking. After Josiah 
had served the champagne and confided 
to him that there was plenty of it in the 
cellar, James began to see one consolation 
in the old place anyway. If only Larry 
and the others could take one smell of the 
beverage, they would envy him his year 
of solitude. 

That night James retired early. Among 
some of the peculiarities of the house was 
the fact that there were no lighting con- 
veniences except candles. James bravely 
lit his candle and went down an immense 
corridor to the last door, undressed him- 
self, got into bed and finally succeeded 
in getting to sleep. 



In the middle of the night he was 
awakened at what he thought sounded 
like trudge — trudge — trudge. Was it 
only his imagination or were his nerves 
getting the better of him? Where had 
he heard that steady trudge — trudge — 
trudge before? Then he remembered. 
It was that confounded butler; but what 
in the name of Sam Hill was he doing- 
walking around in the middle of the 
night? James' already suspicious na- 
ture was awakened to anger. Lighting 
his candle, he went quickly down stairs 
where he found everything where he had 
left it. Now he thought he had been only 
dreaming and it must have been the still- 
ness of the night that had made him 
notice the butler's footsteps. However, 
he decided to satisfy his curiosity; so, 
ascending the stairs, he tiptoed to Josiah's 
room. The old man was snoring slightly 
and evidently dreaming about something 
humorous because the sarcastic smile 
that James hated was stamped on his 

James entered his room satisfied that 
Josiah was not guilty of the trudge — ■ 
trudge — trudge; but he did not like that 
smile. As he fell asleep once more, he 
imagined he saw Josiah leaning over 
him, keeping time to the sturdy trudge — 
trudge — trudge of his feet and saying 
"Ha-ha, ha-ha, ha-ha." 

The next morning Josiah had break- 
fast ready for James when he awoke. 
He dressed and appeared at the table 
at seven. He thought how Larry and 
the others would laugh if he told them 
that he had retired at eight and had 
actually turned out for breakfast at 
seven. The thought made him smile. 
As Josiah went into the kitchen for the 
coffee James noticed once more the 
trudge — trudge — trudge of his footsteps 
and noticed also that when he appeared 
again he had his little complacent smile 

spread over his face. Evidently Josiah 
was pleased with himself. 

James received a letter from the club 
that day. They were showing their 
sympathy by sending him one year's 
subscription to the New York Times. 
Sympathy indeed — to let him know what 
they were doing when he was tied up in 
this forsaken place! 

That night he transferred Josiah to 
the room next to his. He told him that 
he felt more comfortable with him nearer. 
The night passed without any sort of dis- 
turbance and James slept peacefully. 
The next day he told Josiah that he might 
return to his own room if he so desired. 
Josiah said that it made no difference to 
him; so he remained in the adjoining 
room for the rest of the month. 

A month passed in peace and solitude. 
James amused himself by reading some 
of his grandfather's books and helping 
Josiah in the kitchen. Having studied 
art in his college days, he started to paint 
a portrait of the butler. 

One night just before the portrait 
was finished James was awakened by a 
feeling that something was going on in 
the house. That night Josiah had gone 
back to his room on the top floor. James, 
listening intently, heard the familiar 
trudge. Was Josiah downstairs for some- 
thing, or was he dreaming again? As he 
listened, he heard another noise beside 
the usual trudge— trudge — trudge. Get- 
ting out of bed, he donned his dressing 
gown and went slowly downstairs. In 
the library were two men who were 
evidently making no attempt at theft, for 
they were working over something. 

James walked calmly into the room, 
his little automatic in his hand. "Good 
evening, gentlemen," he remarked coolly. 
In a moment the two men were on their 
way to the window. James pulled the 
trigger of his automatic, but there was no 



report. Somebody had trifled with it! 
Just then Josiah hurried into the room 
clad in a long white nightgown and a cap 
which at any other time would have 
appeared humorous. 

James told the occurance to the butler 
who said, "Never mind that, sir; I am 
often disturbed by prowlers; we'll talk 
it over in the morning." With this, he 
smiled slightly and went up stairs. 
James sank into a chair and stayed there 
for the rest of the night. As he sat there 
he heard the trudge — trudge — trudge of 
Josiah's retiring footsteps as he walked, 
and he imagined he heard him saying, 
"Ha-ha, ha-ha, ha-ha." 

At daybreak Josiah descended once 
more and found James sitting in the same 
position. As James' eyes flitted over the 
room, they fell on the portrait of Josiah. 
The intruders had painted Josiah's per- 
petual smile on the likeness. This was 
too much. Why had some one entered 
his house for that reason? Josiah's 
following his, noticed it also. He 
laughed long and loudly. "Are you 
planning to stay the rest of the year?" 
he asked. 

James arose. "Confound you! Yes. 
I'll stick it out now if it kills me." 

At this moment Josiah did a funny 
thing. He removed his hair from his 
head and a few artificial lines from his 

face and said, "Jim, old boy you're a 


"Yes, I'm Larry. You see, old top, 
being your attorney, I received the news 
of your grandfather's death before you 
did. We boys thought it would be a fine 
joke on you to add a condition, and add a 
condition we did. We all hated to see 
you throw away your life foolishly and 
we thought a couple of months of solitude 
would do you good, and you were willing 
to stick it out for a year." 

"But why?" interrupted James. 

"Oh, I understand your doubts," said 
Larry. "I used to come down here nights 
and parade around. Then I'd use some 
backstairs, which I'll show you later to 
get back to my room. It was quite simple 
although I thought of your searching the 
library in the middle of the night. I 
wanted to laugh. I do think I grinned 
much too often. One night the boys 
came up to help you along with your 
portrait and you sent them away with 
your dangerous revolver." 

Here Larry laughed again. 

James looked up at Larry in a stupifiecl 
manner and Larry hastened to make 
coffee. This time the trudge of Larry's 
footsteps was lighter and his smile a 
vigorous, "Ha, ha! Ha, ha!" 

E. H. Stone, '26. 

A Spring Dirge 

When bird and bee and flower and tree 
Put forth their best endeavors, 
And when the lady of the house 
Is busy with slip-covers, 
We know 'tis spring, but dare we sing 
With springtime's gladsome meaning, 
While mop and pail our minds assail 
With that old bugbear "Cleaning"? 

"In days of old, when knights were bold," 
They never heard of germs; 
Nor did ladies fair, with powdered hair, 
Think of Spring in cleaning "terms." 
Now we snatch our fare from desk or 

And our tea sometimes needs screening. 
Oh! for wings to fly to the days gone by, 
Ere they knew aught of "Spring Cleaning." 
Teresa Welch, '25. 



"All the world's a stage, 

And all the men and women merely 

They have their exits and their entrances, 
And one man in his time plays many 

His acts being seven ages." 

William Shakespeare. 

THIS world— a stage! The men and 
women merely players! Why 
should he whose works are more immortal 
than any others call our vast world a 
"stage" and all of us human beings 
"merely players"? Is it that our world 
has only three walls — that there is nothing 
complete in the entire setting, that we 
can see only the part that faces us and 
not the part which is in back? Is it 
that? Has our world three walls or, 
rather, has it any? When you are out 
roaming in the woods or in the fields, 
when you are out on the blue waters of 
some lake or the turbulent waters of the 
sea, does it seem to you then as though 
there were walls to the earth — walls 
which would have to be penetrated by 
some massive gate or heavy knockered 
door, whatever the setting might be? 
To me, it seems as though there were no 
walls at all — there is just the enormous 
floor of the earth. 

There is no ceiling — the so-called sky 
is not a solid, a foundation for another 
floor; it is nothing but space. Space — 
"ad infinitum." A stage has three walls, 
a floor and a ceiling. Why should the 
two things — the world and the stage — 
be compared with another? Shakespeare 
undoubtedly had a definite picture in his 
mind's eye when he made this comparison, 
which is not literal, but figurative. He 
does not say that any part or any particu- 
lar section of the world's a stage by 

selecting the city as an example of a 
setting for our life's play, but instead of 
that he says, "All the world's a stage." 
He does not say that the people of wealth 
and the people of high social standing 
alone and not the poor people are the 
actors and actresses in this "Play of 
Life." Instead of that he says, "All 
the men and women merely players." 
One is not above the other — all are 
created equal. From childhood to old 
age he enumerates all the seven various 
parts, character or straight, which one 
single person plays. It does not seem 
as though the young innocent baby is 
playing a part in the "Drama of Life" 
when he cannot even talk, but more than 
once, even in our present-day happenings, 
does the baby play the important part. 
Practically the world over are the same 
sentiments expressed about the import- 
ance of some babies who are more fortu- 
nate than others. The Coach of the 
"Drama of Life" selects some men to 
play a prominent part throughout his 
worldly travels, while He chooses others 
to have just one outstanding part — 
perhaps the part of the soldier or perhaps 
the part of the justice. 

The "Play" itself is written long before 
we know or understood about it; but 
unlike actual plays which we see being 
acted by people who are substituting 
for those about whom the play was 
written, — unlike these worldly plays, 
not an actor nor an actress in this "Drama 
of Life" can say that he or she doesn't 
like the part which the Coach has as- 
signed. They must learn that nothing is 
gained by envying neighbors, friends or 
other people who perhaps are, at the 
time, playing their most important part 
in the "Drama." Mayhap, if the Coach 
sees fit, He will later give the envious the 



very prominence which he desires — but 
not before the specified time in the 
Author's copy of the "Drama of Life." 

The question now comes as to how the 
players themselves know when and where 
to come in for their own especial speech 
or action. In the plays of the world 
there are boys who are hired to go around 
to the man}- doors of the dressing rooms at 
the back of the stage and who, at the 
right time, are supposed to say — ''Ten 
minutes more" — "eight minutes more for 
you. Miss" — whatever the situation might 
be. That is the first cue which the actor 
or actress receives when he or she is 
playing at any public performance. In 
the actual performance of our "Life" 
do we. as actors and actresses get any 
first cue? Does our Coach have a certain 
person go around among us and say, 
"Your time is come! Be ready! Know 
your part thoroughly!" Is there any 
truth in the forecast and prophecies 
which are made by the gypsy fortune- 
tellers and the so-called clairvoyants 
who are at over}' circus and in every 
gypsy tribe? How can they, earthly 
creatures as we are, tell what is going to 
happen to other earthly creatures when 
the Coach alone knows the "Drama of 
Life"? And why is it that others believe 
what they say? Probably these believers 
have not had their part to play: most 
likely they are not hardened to the decep- 
tion.- of public life; so they listen eagerly 
to what these fakers say and some even 
go so far as to believe that these prophe- 
cies are their own particular cue. If they 
arc told that in a month they will meet a 
dark-complexioned stranger with whom 

they will have some sort of dealing — 
some believe that the very first dark- 
complexioned stranger which they meet 
on the specified day is the one referred 
to by the forecaster. It is their cue to 
act, whether wisely or not. And yet, 
more and more people go on believing 
in these fakers — believing that they, 
they above anyone else, can tell them 
when and where to come onto the stage 
in the important part of their life. Let 
them believe it, if they wish, but some 
of us know better and we have the 
strongest faith that our Coach will never 
forget any of His players — always they 
shall receive their cues, never too early, 
never too late to prepare for their ap- 

All of as, in some way or other, have 
looked ahead into the future and have 
tried to visualize what we see there for us 
and perhaps we have seen something- 
there which we now eagerly anticipate. 
Some of us may have seen a brilliant 
goal — something worth striving for, a 
part which is perfectly suited, a part 
which must be known thoroughly if one 
is to make it a success. Some may have 
seen their parts in shining lights, em- 
blazoned on the background of the 
"Drama of Life"— "all the world." But 
— are we ready for our cue? Are we 
prepared for our appearances? Un- 
doubtedly, all of us have worked, and 
except for those who have already played 
their parts, shall continue to work with 
our aim in view. Are we working hard 
enough? — "Are we ready for our cue?" 

Alice Pratt, '25. 

A Trip That Didn't Prove Tiresome 

I WAS travelling alone from Boston to 
New York one night a few years ago. 
My trip was started with fine weather and 

no fog or wind. When I went to my 
stateroom, I did a funny thing, a thing 
I had never done before, and that was, 



to read the instructions about the life 
belts. Having time to spare, I got them 
out to have a look, and left them out. 

I must have had a presentiment that 
something was going to happen because 
I put my clothes on the chair just as I 
would need them in the morning, which 
is unusual because I am very untidy 
with my belongings. 

When I got into my berth I couldn't 
sleep because of the incessant noise of the 
engine right below me. It must have 
been about half-past twelve when I was 
surprised to hear the fog signal blowing. 
It blew for about five minutes and then 
another ship answered. I was alarmed 
at first because I had been in a collision 
at sea before and I didn't want to repeat 
the experience. 

I began to wonder then, but I reasoned 
that all must be well because the other 
ship was answering. After about two 
minutes' signalling between our ship 
and the other, the engine suddenly 
stopped. I seemed to sense that some- 
thing was wrong, when suddenly there 
was a sharp scream from the dancers on 
the upper deck and then a quick, cleaving 
sound. I must have braced myself, 
becaue I was not thrown from my berth. 

Quickly putting on my coat, I rushed 
out and leaned over the rail. I saw a 
great hole in the side of the ship and knew 
that it couldn't stay up. An officer 
came along just then and ordered the 
people back to their berths, telling them 
that nothing was wrong. This I suppose 
was to prevent a panic. I went to him 
and told him I had seen the hole and, 
seeing I had control of my senses, he told 
me not to mention it to anyone and to 
go and dress. This I did and came onto 
the deck again. Needless to say, every- 
one thought I was foolish. 

After a long delay, the orders came to 

go to the boat deck. By this time the 
boat had sunk so far that the lights were 
out. There was a big crowd here and 
the officers were trying to get the women 
into the boats. It was very awful in 
the total darkness. My turn was just 
coming when another order came to go 
to the other side. By the time I got 
there, the boat had sunk so far that it 
was like stepping from one room to an- 
other to get into the boats. 

I guess the boat I was in was the last 
one off because in the confusion I heard 
a man shout, "We're going anyway," 
and with that three men jumped into the 
boat on top of us. Someone yelled, 
"Cast off," and in trying to do so we 
found that the boat was tied to the 
steamer with an inch and a half cable 
and none of the crew were in the boat. 
One of the men who had jumped in had 
a dull penknife and sawed it until he 
finally cut us loose. It was lucky he 
jumped in. 

The barge which had collided with us 
was not damaged and the lifeboats went 
to the side. The people were somewhat 
anxious here to get onto a larger boat. 
During the process of boarding the barge 
I was in three lifeboats, the last one 
being full of water. 

We waited on the barge, sitting on our 
life-belts for want of anything else, 
until another steamer picked us up. The 
people on the steamer were very nice 
to us, giving up their staterooms and 
lending clothes. 

Soon after, I arrived in New York and 
telegraphed home. I had quite an ex- 
perience and I will say for the passengers 
that I have never seen a more orderly 
and sensible crowd of people, where 
there might have easily been a panic. 

A. L. French, '26. 



A Tale of Two Cilties 

THE author of "A Tale of Two 
Cities" must have had a most 
remarkable mind to be able to put forth 
such a fascinating narrative. Well 
chosen titles for the chapters, likeness to 
real life, suitable characters, humor, 
sarcasm, description, suspense, and the 
ending of the story directly after the 
climax, characteristics all of a really good 
story, are to be found in "A Tale of Two 

Dickens very cleverly divides the nar- 
rative into three different parts: "Book 
the First," "Book the Second," and 
"Book the Third." One might perhaps 
refer to "A Tale of Two Cities" as a play. 
These books would then be the acts, and 
the chapters the scenes. The titles for 
these are very suitably chosen. Take 
for instance "Book the First — Recalled to 
Life" which is based on the return of Dr. 
Manette to health and civilization. The 
chapters are also well named. In 
"Book the First" the chapter "Night 
Shadows" tells of Mr. Lorry's medita- 
tions on Doctor Manette's life while Mr. 
Lorry was riding in a coach on the road 
to Dover. Equally well named is the 
chapter of "Two Promises" which is based 
on the promises of Doctor Manette and 
Charles Darnay to each other concerning 
Lucie's welfare. 

Dickens' suitably chosen characters 
add a great deal to the likeness to real 
life. Does not Doctor Manette act as a 
most loving and true father? Does not 
Lucie seem to be as true a daughter and 
wife as any one is capable of being? Who 
could prove to be a more sincere and 
generous friend than Sydney Carton? 
We are also shown the full force of hatred 
and lack of pity in the character of 
Madame Defarge. The starving peas- 
ants and lavish lords were certainly fact — 

our histoiy books verify that state- 

Throughout the narrative we enjoy 
the most clever humor. For one small 
example, Mr. Jerry Cruncher says, "I'm 
a-going — as your mother knows — a-fish- 
ing. That's where I'm going to. Going 
si-fishing. " 

Young Jerry answers, "Your fishing- 
rod gets rayther rusty; don't it father?" 
Also, " 'As y-o-u say," madame retorted 
correcting him, and deftly knitting an 
extra something into his name which 
boded him no good." 

A most biting bit of sarcasm is found 
after Charles Darnay is doomed to exe- 
cution: "Much influence around him has 
that Doctor?" murmured Madame 
Defarge, smiling to the Vengeance. "Save 
him now, my Doctor, save him!" 

"A Tale of Two Cities" contains most 
vivid description. For one example we 
are continually reminded of Jerry 
Cruncher's "spiky" hair. Another bit 
of description: "The night wore out, and, 
as he stood upon the bridge listening to 
the water as it splashed the river-walls 
of the Island of Paris, where the pictur- 
esque confusion of houses and cathedral 
shone bright in the light of the moon, the 
day came coldly, looking like a dead face 
out of the sky. Then, the night, with 
the moon and the stars, turned pale and 
died, and for a little while it seemed as if 
Creation were delivered over into Death's 

Dickens seems to possess a wonderful 
ability of keeping us in the greatest sus- 
pense. A great deal of suspense he 
accomplishes through the art of repeti- 
tion. He succeeds wonderfully in holding 
us in doubt about the fate of Sydney 
Carton by interrupting the story with 
the agonizing escape of the Darnays. 



As the narrative nears the climax, all 
the minor incidents are fully understood. 
Then after the climax is reached, a few 
short paragraphs conclude the story. 

Altogether, "A Tale of Two Cities" is one 
of the most fascinating narratives I 
have ever read. 

Ruth Gustafson, '27. 

-I I 

Mimi Kith. 

There are pansies white and pansies blue 

And pansies that grow of different hue, 
They start to bud in the early Spring, 
The people from the market bring 

Baskets of the little flowers 

And plant them for the April showers. 
In any garden fair you'll see 
Pansies large and pansies wee. 

James Collins, 8B. 

IT was the month of March, 1861. 
War had been declared on the South 
the month before. Johnny McGraw's 
father and two big brothers had enlisted 
with the Northerners. Johnny was only 
fifteen and could not go to war. He had 
to stay at home and take care of his 

One day when Johnny was out hunting, 
he came upon a cleared place in the 
middle of the woods. At first Johnny 
thought it was one of the Union camps, 

bub then he saw some men in gray uni- 
forms emerge from one of the tents. 
The men began to talk over plans for an 
attack on the little village where Johnny 
lived. Johnny knew his life would be in 
peril if he were caught, but he stayed and 

That night when the Confederates at- 
tacked the village, they were beaten off 
by the Union soldiers whom Johnny had 

Charles Newman, 8A. 

To the Pink Ladly's-Slipper 

In lonely places you abound 

And only by a few are found. 

In Spring thru piney banks you burst, 

And among the flowers you are the first. 

Oh! Lady Slipper of rosy hue, 
What hast thou in this world to do? 
Thou shalt welcome the passer-by 
And he your beauty cannot deny. 

Betty Blair, 8B. 



Conduct in the Library 

WHEX you enter the library, yon 
should close the door softly be- 
hind you. If you wish to find something 
about a topic and don't know how to find 
it, you should ask the librarian in a polite 
way if she will help you. If she happens 
to be busy, wait quietly until she is 
through with what she is doing. When 
you have received what you wanted, go 
quietly to a table and sit down. Do not 
start to run around and make a lot of 
noise and disturb other people. Ee as 
polite and courteous as possible when you 
are in the presence of other people and in 
the library. People judge you by the 
way you act. 

Loretta Fitzgerald, 8A. 

The American Flag 

The red, white and blue, 
Our flag so true 
Flies o'er our school 
The whole year through. 

We honor it, 

We love it, 

We salute it with joy; 

We revere it, 

We adore it. 

Each girl and each boy. 

We raise it 'bove all things 

And hold it on high, 
We prize it, we praise it, 

As it waves in the sky. 
The flag of our nation — 

The best land there is — 
The flag of a great land, 

My country it is. 

Oh, long may it live! 
This emblem so true, 
Our lives we would give — 
For the red, white and blue. 

Frances Maloney, 8F. 

* I "'HE garden I should like most to own 
■*- is not a garden surrounding a 
stately mansion in the very elegant part 
of the town, but a garden about a wee, 
sedate cottage on the outskirts. 

Enveloped in the penetrating sweetness 
of the bountiful blossoms, which remain 
the whole year, for my garden must be in 
a luxuriously warm climate, I should like 
to live my whole life. Sweet, dainty 
lilies of the valley, shy pansies, flaming 
nasturtiums, I should like, all mixed to 
look like a charming bouquet, far more 
beautiful than stiff, unromantic rows of 
flowers. Old-fashioned rustic benches set 
among the radiant marigolds, gay pe- 
tunias, and fragrant heliotrope would be 
my haven of rest. A tinkling, laughing 
brook, shaded by those mournful, but 
beautiful weeping willows, must skip 
merrily through this ever-blossoming 
miniature Garden of Eden. 

This is one of my favorite day dreams. 
Do you think you would enjoy it with 

Edna Sunderland, 8G. 

I wandered listlessly at dawn 
And I was quite surprised to see 

As lovely a flower that blooms at morn, 
A violet laughing at me. 

Edna Sunderland, 8G. 

To> The Morning Glory 

Morning Glory, thou art the messenger of 

Thou openest very early to greet the 

birth of morn. 
We know not what our joy or sorrow is 

to be, 
But may the morning's promise be ever 

fair like thee. 

Elizabeth Campbell, 8G. 



"In Flanders Field the poppies blow 
Upon the crosses row on row." 

ONE beautiful May day an elderly 
lady was walking in Flanders Field. 
She was not like many of the sonless 
victims searching for the graves of the 
dear ones they had lost, for after many 
weeks of searching in vain, she had found 
the resting-place of her beloved son. 

The fresh morning air blew about her 
as she stood gazing thoughtfully on the 
crude marker. She knelt, and kissing 
the folds of the faded, muddy flag which 
was floating bravely in the breeze, she 
murmured in a faltering voice, "He died 
for you, Old Glory." 

Janice Mackenzie, 8 A. 

Oh shy little violet, 
So beautiful and fair, 
Hold your head high 
In the breezy air. 

Swaying there so gently, 

In the balmy air, 

Don't you love the springtime, 

Lovely violet fair? 

Don't you love the sunshine 
And the moist rains too? 
Don't you love the grasses 
And skies that are so blue? 

Frances M alone y, 8F. 

fragile purple-petaled flower, 

Who nods in fragrant shaded nook. 
A perfumed queen, with beauty's power, 
You rule your realm by the rippling 

Lillian Beaulieu, 8B. 

The tulip, flaming red and gold, 
The tulip, pure and white, 
Thou thy sturdy petals fold 
When night comes in its flight. 

In your firm and radiant youth 
Your sturdy petals form, 
Making a chalice pure as truth, 
Filled with the dew of morn. 

Joseph O'Connor, 8B. 


The hollyhocks, so grand and tall, 
Stand close beside the garden wall, 
Never look to left or right, 
But stand on guard both day and night. 

Some are pink, some red, some white, 
With their leaves so green and bright. 
Who, but Nature, could design 
Anything so wondrous fine? 

Doris Dexter, 8B. 

To a Rose 

Oh, rose, so sweet and dignified, 
Secluded, hidden, unespied, 
With thy draping dress of red 
Growing in my flower bed. 

Growing higher, higher, higher, 
Peeping over all the brier; 
Come and show yourself, dear flower, 
Instead of hiding in the bow'r. 

Marion Murphy, 8B. 

In the spring when flowers their leaves 

The story of fairies is being retold, 
For if it be known, on a moonlight night, 
Ten fairies dressed in colors bright 
Tripped their way, o'er paths of green, 
To choose amongst them a fairy queen, 
And for their queen, so bright and fair, 
They chose the tulip to rule them there. 
Marjorie Gifford, 8E. 



Teacher (to pupil): "John, do 3-011 
know the five great lakes?" 

John: "No." 

Teacher: "Well, John, you learn them 
tonight and tell me in the morning." 

Teacher (next morning) : "John, have 
you the five great lakes in your head 

John : "No, if I did I would have water 
on the brain!" 

Oh, Teacher! 

Oh, Teacher, my pencils are broken, 
My pens simply can't be found; 

Oh, Teacher, I didn't speak to Harry, 
Or even turn around. 

Oh, Teacher, I've lost my notebook, 
My crayons have disappeared, too p 

I couldn't help it either, 

Oh, I don't know what to do! 

Philip Kravitz, 8B. 

A Favorite- Spot 

LYING under majestic pine trees, I 
was enchanted with the beauty 
about me. The massive pines towered 
high above with bits of blue and fleecy 
white visible through the branches. Pine 
needles carpeted the ground and blue- 
berry bushes offered their juicy fruit to 
the passer-by. Birds caroled forth their 
joyous music from their haunts by the 
lake. The sun, wending its way through 
the sky. soon disappeared behind a 
wooded knoll, sending its ruddy glow 
over the dancing water. Finally dark- 
ness descended and silence reigned, save 

for the lap of 

pebbly shore. 

the water against the 

Betty Blair, 8B. 

The Oai§^ 

I'm a pretty little thing, 
Always coming with the spring; 
In the meadow green I'm found, 
Peeping just above the ground. 

All the children when they pass, 
Looking o'er the tender grass, 
Skip about but do not tread 
Upon my pretty little head. 

Joseph Dempsey, 8B. 




A Letter Received by a Junior High 
Pupil from a Little French Girl 

Cher amie 

Je suis tres heureuse d'apprendre par 
l'intermediare de «L'echo de Paris» que 
des petits Americains demandent a cor- 
respondre avec des petites francaises. 
Je m'empresse de repondre a leur bonne 
demande an leur donnant les details 

Je me nomme Pierrette, nom bizarre 
qui se rattache particulierement eut a 
mon caractere. Une taille moyenne, 
des yeux marrons, puis un minois 
cache sous des cheveux bruns coupes 
a la «Winon», un visage tou jours gai. 
Comme caractere, je ne suis pas bileuse 
et je m'accorde assez bien avec mes 

Mon Pere est directeur d'une usine de 
Carosserie. Ma mere reste a la maison. 
J'ai un frere qui a 21 ans. II est mecani- 

Moi je vais a «l'ecole Superieure des 
jeunes filles d'Avesnes». J'ai 14 ans. 
J'apprends la chimie, la physique, le 
chant, l'historie, la Geographie. J'etudie 
les plantes. Et j'apprends aussi 1' Anglais 
mais comme vous le voyez je ne suis pas 

Enfin j'aime le chant, la peinture, la 
gymnastique, surtout les sports et je le 
fais de la bicyclette. Je pense que pour 
vous il en sera de meme. 

Recevez cher Ami, en attendant une 
reponse sur votre vie. vos gouts, vos 
plaisirs, les meilleurs amities d'une amie. 


Le Petit Chapeati 

Au present le petit chapeau est roi. 
Autrefois les chapeaux aux larges bords 

et aux garniture abondantes etaient tres 
populaires. Maintenant ils sont oublies 
et quand on en voit un, ce qui n'arnve 
que tres rarement on dit, « Comme cette 
mode-la etait ridicule. » 

Aujourd'hui le simple feutre a pris 
la place des autres et il y a plusieurs 
raisons pour cette evolution de la mode de 
chapeaux. L'auto, les sports, et la man- 
iere de vivre ont exerce une influence 
puissante sur la mode et la vogue crois- 
sante des cheveux coupes a fait complet 
le triomphe des petits chapeaux. Ils 
sont pratiques et ne manquent pas 
d'allure. Ils sont de toutes les couleurs: 
les marrons, les verts pales, les violets 
les mauves, les gris, et toutes les nuances 
des pastels. 

En regardant rapidement un groupe 
de femmes elegantes,, on aurait tout 
d'abord l'impression que tous les chapeaux 
se ressemblent, mais pas de tout! Quand 
on les examine, on trouve qu'aucun ne 
ressemble a un autre. Chaque chapeau 
est moule sur la tete. Ou voit par 
exemple une femme qui porte un chapeau 
qui se baisse sur les yeux pour dissimuler. 
un nez., defectueux. Une autre porte un 
chapeau qui est releve devant pour laisser 
voir un profil regulier et parfait. En 
general ces chapeux ne veulent pas de 
garniture mais parfois un bijou ou un 
ruban les embellit. 

Pendant Pete le feutre fera place a 
la paille mais seulement un peu de sa 
place. Toutes les pailles, cependant, 
seront transformes en petit chapeaux. 
Pour le soir le turban essaye de revenir 
mais ses tentatives ne sont pas couronnes 
d'un grand succes. Les femmes vont 
encore au theatre tete nue. 

Naomi Fay, '25. 



L'autre jour le roi et la reine d'Angle- 
terre ont \*isite Paris apres une croisiere 
sur la Mediterranee. Le but de leur 
sejour etait de visiter le tombeau du 
Soldat Inconnu. Le peuple francais etait 
tres appreeiatif de cette visite, et ils 
n'oublient pas qu'en France reposent des 
centaines de milliers de braves fils de la 
Grande Bretagne. 

Les Francais savent que la politique 
n'est pas un art tres sentimental mais ils 
realizent qu'on y trouve quelquefois des 
sentiments augusts et quand les souver- 
ains rendent hommages a leurs morts ils 
repondent de tout coeur par un hommage 
egal aux heros de la Grande Bretagne. 

Ces deux peuples, les Francais et les 
Anglais, ont ete toujours prodigeusement 
predisposes a se quereller et a s'entendre. 
Ils se querellent parce qu'ils ont des 
temperaments des habitudes et des in- 
terets divergents. Ils s'entendent parce 
que leur relations, dans la paix comme 
dans la guerre ont fini par faire d'eux des 
compagnons inseparables. Aussitot qu'un 
grain menace ils oublient leurs querelles 
et se hatent toujours a secourir l'un 
l'autre. La camaraderie entre les deux 
ppuples a pris une plus grande chaleur 
depuia que Monsieur Baldwin et Monsieur 
Chamberlain sont revenus au pouvoir 
aver le parti conservateur, et ils re- 
gretteraient beaucoup si quelque malheur 
lee privait de la compagnie l'un de 

Axna Weisul, '26. 


La saison que je prefere est le prin- 
temps. Les join- sont chauds et plus 
longs. Les hirondelles et les ecureuils 
-ont de retour et les pros sont pleins de 
flews. Les chansons des oiseaux sont 
joyeux apres l'hiver. A la campagne les 

arbres fruit iers sont en fleur et bientot 
les pommes et les poires seront murs. 
Nous nous amuserons beaucoup sous les 
branches ombrageux. 

Au printemps commencent le base 
balle et les autres sports, et par consequent 
c'est la saison que les petits gargons 
aiment. Bientot l'ete sera ici et puis les 
vacances. Le printemps est la meilleure 
saison de toute l'annee. 

Joseph Connolley, '27. 

La Mort de John Sargent 

John Sargent, le peintre qui est mort 
pendant le mois d'aVril etait le plus 
fameux des portraitistes de cette epoque. 
Ses parents etaient americains mais il est 
mort a Florence en 1858. II apprit l'art 
de peindre aupres de Carolus Duran a 
Paris. A l'ecole Sargent peignait presque 
uniquement les portraits. Des 1877 il 
participa avec succes dans les salons 
annuels de Paris. 

Quand il part it pour Londres, une 
grande reputation le preceda, une repu- 
tation qui lui donna une place d'im- 
portance dans la societe anglaise. Dans 
l'exposition universelle de 1889 il eut, dans 
la section des Etats Unis, une collection 
de portraits qui lui gagna un Grand Prix. 
II parut a la Nationaleavecregularitejus- 
qu'en 1903. II devint «a la mode» et 
ses portraits de famille se trouvent dans 
de nombreux salons. Le Luxembourg, le 
British Museum, et le Musee de South 
Kensington possedent aussi des oeuvres 
de ce peintre qui fut et qui restera un des 
grands noms dans l'histoire de l'art. 

John Slattery, '26. 

Un Viaje a E§ 

No haga caso como llegamos a Nueva 
York y como embarcamos por Espana. 
Sin embargo, yo dire unas pocas palabras 
de la vida en el vapor. 



Fuimos a bordo el vapor "George 
Washington." Ni una comodidad no 
faltaba. Algunas personas se mareaban, 
pero, en suma, la travesia era agradable. 
Habia mucha confusion cuando el capitan 
nos dijo que llegabamos al puerto de 

La grande costa escabrosa estaba 
entonces enf rente de nosotros. Podiamos. 
ver La Roca de Gibraltar y la artilleria que 
rodeaban la fuerte, puesta aqui por los 

Cuando nosotros llegamos a tierra 
encontramos mendigos, buhoneros, por- 
teros y todas clases de gente. La guarda 
nos aseguraron que un caballero espafiol 
era siempre cortes y util a las Sefioras, 
especialmente si ellas eran extranjeras en 
Espafia. Ahora vamos a Cadiz. 

Cuando llegamos a Cadiz visitabamos 
la catedral de La Nueva. Es una edi- 
ficia muy hermosa y elaborada. Los 
ornamentos son de oro y de plata. Otro 
lugar que visitabamos fue el Convento de 
los Capuchinos donde hay cuadros de 
Murillo, el amo de pinturas religiosas de 
Espafia. Quisimos mas estimulo y por 
este razon decidimos ir a una corrida de 
toros. Nosotros aprendimos que antes 
del principio de la corrida de toros, los 
toros son traidos la noche anterior al 
combate no son dado nada que comer y 
son guardados en obscuridad con tal que 
salgan en la claridad del sol despues de 
viente y cuatro horas de ayuno y son 
mas furiosos entonces que nunca. Los ca- 
ballos que ellos emplean en estas ocaciones 
algunas veces reciben heridas graves. 
Hay tres cuadrillas de hombres en el 
circulo. Primero, son los Picadores que 
montan a caballo a la entrada del circulo 
y atraen la attencion del toro cuando el 
viene. Llevan un pico para defenderse. 
La segunda cuadrillera de hombres son 
los Banderillos cuyo peligro es mayor. 
Echan estas cosas que estellan cuando 

tocan las ijadas del toro y esto lo hace 
mas furioso. El actor el mas importante 
es el Toreador. El viene en el circulo y 
agita la capa roja y atrae la attencion del 
toro. El animal, que es ahora sangriento 
y furioso, se adelanta cerca de el. El 
Toreador no puede tardar un segundo, 
pero el tiene que empujar su arma tan 
pronto que possible entre los omoplatos 
del toro y el animal cae a los pies del 

Despues de la corrida de torros, toma- 
bamos un tren para Sevilla. Los trenes 
no tienen campanas, por este razon, 
cuando el tren esta para salir, el director 
de la estacion toca una campana ordinaria. 
Los hombres fuman enfrente de las 
mujeres, pero son muy corteses tambien. 

Cuando llegamos a Sevilla, nosotros 
visitabamos La Giralda. Es de arqui- 
tectura morisca y es muy elegante. La 
gente aqui es cortes y complaciente. Las 
mujeres son hermosas. Llevan ahora 
ropas negras y una mantilla blanca con 
un flor brillante en sus cabellos. Los 
hombres son altos, tienen cabellos negros 
y ojos negros y bigotes. 

Estas cosas de que yo he hablado, me 
interesaron mucho pero yo no puedo 
quedar en Espafia mas tiempo porque yo 
tengo que despertarme y prepararme para 
la escuela. 

Olga M. Zurba, '26. 

Emsemadi© Tre§ Amos 

Yo pienso que el espafiol debiera ser 
ensefiado tres afios en nuestra escuela, 
por que mucho puede cumplirse en tres 
afios. El espafiol del primer afio es una 
buena fundacion, el espafiol del segundo 
afio se edifica sobre esta fundacion, y 
entonces, ique? Si no hay tres afios de 
espafiol, lo que uno ha aprendido, el 
olvida prontamente. El espafiol del 



tercer ano combina el trabajo de los dos 
anos con el estudio de la literatura 

Muehos alumnos no son tan afortonados 
como ir mas lejos que la escuela superior 
y est an incapaces de hacer un estudio 
mas avanzado de esta lengua. 

Los colegios exigen dos anos de una 
idioma, pero a t o no pienso que por este 
razon no necesitamos un curso de tres 
anos. El f ranees se ensefia tres anos y, 
asi, (.porque no el espanol? Ciertamente 
el espanol es tan importante, porque Los 
Estados Unidos comercian con America 
del Sur. 

Acaso el dinero es la causa principal 
para no tener tres anos de este asunto, 
pero cuando uno realiza las oportunidades 
que este otro ano de espanol da a varios 
alumnos, yo pienso que el sujeto de un 
curso de tres anos debiera ser dado mucho 
pensamiento diligente. 

En los anos futuros yo supongo que el 
espanol se ensenara por tres anos en las 
escuelas superiores, pero yo pienso que 
ahora es la hora de establecerlo. 

Pero, oQue podemos nosotros hacer? 

Nada, sino hablar de este curso que 
nosotros no estudiamos. 

Florence E. Blasenak, '26. 

La Primmavera 

Las nubladas blandas estan flotando a 

traves del cielo, 
Las motacilas estan modulando lejos y 

Mientras los pechirojos estan cantando 

serenamente alto 
La alondra canta libre y claro. 

Mizitas sauces estan agitando, 
En las brisas suaves, 
Mientras las flores estan diciendo 
"Hagame el favor de decirme si la prima- 
vera ha venido?" 

Si, la primavera ha venido queridas 

No puede usted oir las motacilas cantar?" 
Venga, Oh, venga, desde sus habitaciones 

Y haga hermosa la primavera feliz. 

Dorothy W. Thompson, '26. 

Mary Wolfe, translating Vergil: "She Miss Wilson: "Bunny, use 'dynasty' 

gave feasts to the banquets." in a sentence." 

* * * Banny: "The man was eaten by 

Schleswig? vultures. Didn't he die nasty?" 

Miss Griffin fin History, explaining * * 

pre-war annexations): "His last name Alice: "Miss Foster wants to know 

was Holstein, but I can't remember his whose magazine that is." 

first name!" Mary: "Tell her 'Everybody's'." 



Norwood started its season with an 
extra factor working against them in the 
form of weather and weather men. Two 
out of the first three games had to be 
cancelled because of inclement weather. 
The team, however, is in good standing 
with a percentage of over five hundred, 
having won four games and lost three. 
The following is a brief summary of the 
games played: 

Waltham at Norwood 
Waltham possessed a fast, clever play- 
ing team having two All-Scholastic play- 
ers, one a catcher and the other a short- 
stop. Very little hitting was done by 
either team, most of the runs being scored 
on errors. Molloy pitched a fine game of 
ball and deserved to win, but the odds 
were against him. Score at the end of the 
game: Norwood 1, Waltham 4. 

Boston Latin School at Norwood 
This proved to be a closely contested 
game until the last minute of the ninth 
inning. The score seesawed back and 
forth and at the start of the last half of 
the ninth inning Latin School had a two- 
run lead. Berkland, however, led off 
with a hit, followed by another by 
Bunney and then still another by Molloy 
that scored Berkland and advanced 
Bunney to third. Fireman hit a ball to 

Latin's third baseman, who booted it 
and allowed Bunney to score, tying it up 
5 to 5. Molloy then scored in another 
error and the game was won. Final 
score: Latin 5; Norwood 6. 

Boston Trade School at Norwood 
This was a rather slow game with 
Norwood always in the lead. Dixon 
made his first appearance on the mound 
for Norwood and gave good account of 
himself. Score: Trade School 1; Nor- 
wood 5. 

Boston H. S. of Commerce at Norwood 
Commerce possessed a fast and hard 
hitting team and was credited with wins 
over Latin School and the strong Hyde 
Park nine. At Norwood they met with 
very strong opposition, but managed to 
take the game by two runs. Final score: 
Norwood 1; Commerce 3. 

Charlestown H. S. at Norwood 
This proved to be an easy game and 
Norwood hit with precision during the 
entire game. This was Dixon's second 
game and he held the visitors well in 
hand allowing them only a few scattered 
hits the entire afternoon. In the eighth 
inning, Jimmie Donovan replaced Dixon 
and W. McDonough replaced Jim Bunney 
and succeeded in holding the visitors 
scoreless. Score: Charlestown 0; Nor- 
wood 6. 



Needham High School at Needham 
This game is a sad story of poor sports- 
manship on the part of Needham. Only 
one inning of the game had been played 
and Norwood was leading one to nothing. 
Massey was at bat and bunted. The 
ball was about two feet inside of the foul 
line when the Xeedham pitcher tried to 
pick it up and muffed it, and it rolled 
over the line. The umpire called it a foul 
ball and there followed a long and heated 
discussion that finally resulted in Nor- 
wood's leaving the field. 

Walpole High School at Norwood 

Walpole had a very strong team and a 

string of nine consecutive victories. They 

also were confident of making it ten but 
were finally disappointed. It was a close, 
fast game from start to finish. In the 
eighth inning, Norwood scored a run and 
then Molloy struck the last three batters 
out in succession. Final score: Norwood 
1; Walpole 0. 

Jamaica Plain H. S. at West Roxbury 
This game was loosely played and there 
was a lot of hitting. Jamaica Plain 
tapped out twelve safe hits, while Nor- 
wood got thirteen. Poor fielding in the last 
two innings practically cost Jamaica the 
game. Geary and Spierdowis played 
best for Norwood. Score: Jamaica 
Plain 5 : Norwood 7. 

It is not often that the members of 
the High School have the opportunity to 
listen to world-famous speakers. How- 
ever, we had this pleasure on May 11, 
when Dr. John Haynes Holmes addressed 
the Senior and Junior High School at a 
combiner! assembly. Dr. Holmes' ad- 
dress was very interesting and inspiring. 
His exceedingly logical presentation, his 
evident understanding of human nature, 
and his strikingly forceful character and 
personality made his message impressive 
and convincing. 

Dr. Holmes is a graduate of Harvard 

University and a resident of New York 
City. He is also the author of many 
books, among which are "Readings from 
Great Authors," and "New Wars and 


* * * 

We all wish to welcome our new music 
instructor, Professor Dethier. Under his 
direction the Glee Club and Senior 
Chorus have progressed rapidly. "Morn- 
ing Invitation" by Veazie; "Song of the 
Armorer," Nevin; "Sing! Sing! Birds 
on the Wing," Nutting; "On to Victory," 
Burnham, are the selections chosen for 



graduation. These seem to have been 
picked very carefully, for the first re- 
quires an alto solo; the second, a bass 
solo; the third, a soprano solo, and the 
fourth an alto and soprano combined. 
In this way variety is given to the chorus. 
The Glee Club has sung the first of these 
at two of the assemblies and received 
much applause. 

% sfc ^ 

Under the leadership of Mr. Smith, 
the orchestra has again appeared in 
public and played at some of the assem- 
blies. Many new members have been 
added making a total of twenty-four 
members at present. 

They have been playing marches and 

some of the latest jazz pieces. "Oh, 

Kathrina" received particular applause 

from the student body. Mr. Smith's 

bow compared very favorably with that 

of Mr. Morse. Just now the orchestra 

is practicing marches from "Aida" and 

"The Prophet," for graduation. 
* * * 

A group of Seniors from the history 
classes visited some of the public buildings 
of Boston a few weeks ago. 

While at the State House, they visited 
the Senate Chamber where a quiet meet- 
ing was being held. The members seemed 
in no way interested in the bills which 
were up for discussion. It seemed like a 
day of rest, because there was no one 
who made an attempt to say anything 
about the bills which were so quickly 

After this visit they went to the Cham- 
ber of the House of Representatives. 
There things were quite different. A 
discussion was going on as to whether 
or not a bill should be passed to give a 
large sum of money to the Boston and 
Maine Railroad. This discussion was 
suddenly interrupted by the arrival of a 
messenger from his Excellency the Gov- 

ernor. The messenger was admitted 
amid the clapping of hands and the 
shouts of the members. 

Later, a guard took the visitors about 
the building, showing them the Governor's 
Room which is a perfect cube in shape 
and said to be the most beautiful room 
in the building. Along the walls in the 
corridor they saw many beautiful oil 
paintings, the most noticeable of which 
were those of the Boston Tea Party, 
Paul Revere's Ride and James Otis 
speaking against the Writs of Assistance. 

After leaving the State House, they 
hurried over to the Old State House where 
they saw relics of old vessels, the models 
of ships and sailboats, weapons used by 
early settlers, books and clothing of the 
early governors of Massachusetts, and a 
large bench made from an elm tree from 
Boston Common. One observation that 
impressed them with the antiquity of the 
building was the absence of any means of 
producing artificial light. 

With little time left, they hurried over 
to Faneuil Hall, where the\ wrote their 
names in the visitors' register. Upon 
looking back a few pages in the book, 
they found that a few of their own class- 
mates had visited the famous Hall some 
weeks before. 

Leaving the Hall and Markets behind, 
they hurried over to the Customs House 
Tower, but were disappointed because it 
had already been closed to visitors. 

They returned home wishing that a 

few more of their classmates might have 

enjoyed the trip with them. 
* * * 

On April 14 a theatre party, made up 
of the girls who had helped during the 
football and basket ball seasons by 
selling tickets at the games, went in town 
to see the musical comedy, "Rose 
Marie." Miss McGonagle and Miss 
Kiley acted as chaperones. All the girls 




agreed that it was one of the most en- 
joyable times they had ever had and that 
they surely appreciated Mr. Grant's 
thoughtfulness in arranging such a party. 

Eight of the Commercial Seniors are 
working on the "Hospital Drive" under 
the direction of Miss Woodard. 

Thursday, May 21, many of the Com- 
mercial Seniors visited the Bird Plant in 

Norwood and Walpole. 

* * * 

The Norwood High School students 
are benefited by another scholarship which 
is given by the Norwood Woman's Club. 
It is an initial one, accessible to anyone 
(on the loan basis) who may apply and is 
found to be worthy of it. The club has a 
special committee in charge of this and 
they hope that the fund may be in- 
creased in later years. 

* * * 

At the High School Assembly on May 1, 
the Norwood Board of Trade Scholarship 
Cup was presented with very appropriate 
exercises. The first thing on the program 
was a selection by the school orchestra, 
followed by two selections by the Glee 
Club. ' 

Then came the unveiling of the cup 
and presentation to the school by Rev. 
Charles H. Brown, the chairman of the 

Educational Board. He made a very 
impressive speech in explaining the plan 
of the Board in awarding the cup and the 
significance of its possession. 

The fourth thing on the program was 
the acceptance of the cup for the school 
and the making of the first award by Mr. 
Grant, our principal. 

In accordance with his usual habit, Mr. 
Grant kept us in great anxiety and sus- 
pense by delaying the direct naming of 
the class to receive the cup for the first 
time. It seemed as though we waited 
hours for the actual award. Finally it 
came and the class of 25 received the 
honor. Richard Dowling, its president, 
made a very fitting extemporaneous 
speech in behalf of his classmates of '25. 

The statistics that decided the award 
were as follows : 

Seniors — -25.27 on the honor roll. 

Juniors — 23.81 on the honor roll. 

Sophomores — 23.32 on the honor roll. 

After we had recovered a little from 
our excitement, the orchestra played 
again and then we sang "Norwood" under 
the leadership of Professor Dethier. 

We all certainly wish to express our 
thanks to the Board of Trade for the 
Trophy Cup, which will be a great in- 
centive in scholarship competition among 
the classes of the High School. 

! ! ! 

I had been napping, when a fearful noise 

Made me straighten up in bed. 
Another earthquake, so I thought; 

But before the words were said — 
I looked right out the window, 

It was the close of day — ■ 
And behold! 'twas just a teacher 

Carting home her weekly pay. 

John Wisgirda, '27. 




To The Undergraduates 

In the year of "26. 
When us Seniors you do miss, 
Just as though we were not parted, 
Carry out what we have started — 
For our school! 

Lead on to victory our football team, 
Fight each battle, hard and clean. 
Join the "Questers" and, if you can, 
Be a friend to every man — 
For our school! 

"When you must for the ' Arguenot" 
Write a "new and clever plot," 
Do not grumble and curse your luck, 
But show your Norwood grit and 
pluck — 

For our school! 

L. E. X.,'25. 

* * * 

Congratulations to the Seniors for 
being the first to have their class numerals 
inscribed on the cup presented by the 
Norwood Board of Trade. We sincerely 
hope that the Seniors will not cede first 
place to either the Juniors or Sophomores, 
but will finally have "'the Class of 25" 
inscribed on the cup for the last time. 

Graduation Day is rapidly creeping 
nearer. Each day gone by brings the 
end of our High School life much nearer. 
Each day is carefully marked and counted 
off — not because the Seniors are in any 
hurry to graduate, but lest the end come 
too soon, before we are aware of it. 

Preparation for graduation is already 
in full swing. Music is being practised, 
committees have been appointed, the 
class pictures taken, the essays written 
and three selected, and the class motto 
has been chosen. 

Soon we shall begin practising the 
graduation march itself. 

Graduation! What an important and 
solemn event this will be in our life. It 
will mean first of all the severing of all 
our connections with Norwood High, the 
school we have loved, supported, worked 
for, fought for and of which we are very 
proud. Graduation to some Seniors 
means the promotion to some higher 
institute of learning — college, business 
school or normal school. To others, 
perhaps not so fortunate, it means 
much more. It means the end of 
school life altogether and the beginning 
of the struggle to earn a living. 

We are now almost alumni, yet we 
can clearly remember our entrance into 
Norwood High and the different stages 
we went through before we became 
Seniors. First of all we were insignificant, 
green Freshmen, wandering a little fear- 
fully about a great big new building. 
How we marveled at the long corridors 
and the many large rooms and how 
diligently we attempted to remember 
which stairs were for ascending and which 
for descending! After a short year, we 
became Sophomores and this was when 
we made our debut into social life 
when we held our Sophomore Party. 
Next we were Juniors, the jolly Juniors, 
second in dignity only to the mighty 
Seniors, and finally with only a brief 
intermission, we became Seniors at last. 
We were the most honored, the wisest, 
most privileged class. We have reached 
our last milestone and the time has come 
when we must say good-bye to our 
school, our teachers and our under- 

Norwood High School, the Class of '25 
bids you farewell. 



A Senior Bed-Time Story 

ONE day the Taylors' daughter 
started out from the Towne on an 
errand to the Potter's for her mother. 
After she had walked Swift (ly) along for 
about half an hour, she came to some 
Woods. As she was hot and tired, she 
decided to Lydon on some cool Morse. 
Picking up a huge leaf, she started Fan-. 
ning herself. She was very hungry; so 
she ate some Curran(ts) and some corn 
on the Cobb. Soon she was rested and 
she walked along picking Flower(s). 
Once a Bunny scampered across her path, 
but she was not afraid of him — he was 
harmless. However, she kept her eyes 
open for any Wolfe which might be lurk- 
ing near by. 

After turning some sharp Connors, she 
came to the Potter's cottage. She rapped 
lightly on the door but nobody answered ; 
so she gave it a few Wachs. This time it 
was opened. When she had completed 
her errand, she met William (s) the 
Potter's son. He played on the Euke 
Laily for her. That night when her 
mother came to her bed-sicle to Tucker 
in, she told her about the Nu"gent" she 
had met. 

M. M. C, '25. 

Miss Elliott: "We paid Colombia 
$25,000,000 to appease her." 

Bailey (musingly): "Heart balm, eh?" 

* * * 

Mary Wolfe: "Orpheus was a great 
musician because he was the onby one 
who could charm wild women." 

* * * 

Way Down South 

"All right back there?" howled the 

"Hoi' on, hoi' on," shrieked a feminine 
voice. "Jes wait till I gets mah clothes 

And then as the entire carfull craned 

their necks, expectantly, she entered with 

a basket of laundry. 

* # # 

There is a class of Seniors, 
Who when they have gone away, 
Will fill the Juniors' hearts with sorrow 
And make them old and gray. 

Oh, yes, maybe! 

Miss Blaisdell (reading a poem): 
"Please notice the feet." 

Voice in the rear: "That one is ding- 

* * * 

There was a young fellow named Glass 

Whose boldness was equal to brass. 

One day the poor fool 

Was bold to a mule. 

His body lies here 'neath the grass. 
=i-. * * 

Plumb: "The World War was fought 
on the grounds of democracy." 

Dumb: "Gosh! And I always thought 
it was fought in Europe!" 



Youth, passionately to roommate: Tank and Pat, walking together. 

"And so we embraced under a July Tank: "Hello girls!" (After girls had 

moon!" passed.) 

Roommate: "Oh, I see, a summer Pat: "Who are they?" 

squash!" Tank: "I don't know. I thought you 

* * * knew them." 

A Talented Lady * * * 

Eleanor Morse: "And his wife died Teacher: "Who made Homer famous?" 

again." Pupil: "Babe Ruth." 

I vsej to TUK Tw»S 3u.te. ^W.jjVK 

Ikit a vision shouU >nea>i the 5»»e as Sip n -r 

BuT I JfouncJ I Wis wroyio 'Cause 1 Uawietf befae. Jo^o 

This is a. Vist 

Senior: "What kind of a girl is she?" ABona report card is worth two in a 

Radio-Bug: "Well, she's a loud speaker bush. 

and likes to broadcast." * * 

* * * Atavism 

Office Boy: "The boss can't see anyone Grace P. (rubbing her dress after a 

today." visit to the barber's) : "I must brush my 

Caller: "Well, tell him that I hope his hairy chest!" 

blindness is only temporary." * * * 

* * * Myrtha: "The fellows are to wear red 
Teacher: "Why was Burke a matchless shoes for Graduation." 

orator?" Jock: "But they can't wear red shoes 

Pupil: "I suppose he didn't smoke!" with evening dresses." 



I think that there will never be 
Styles as queer as these we see, 
When all the women try to ape 
The styles of men from shoe to cape. 

Their style of hair-cut they did rob, 
For now they have the shingle bob. 
Knickers, too, are common now. 
Where will they end, I ask, and how? 

I think that there will never be 
Styles as queer as these we see, 
Unless the men begin to wear 
Skirts and dresses and long hair. 

M. P. B. 

Empty are my pockets now — 
'Tis very sacl indeed — ; 
But probably, I'd have been rich 
If I had taken heed. 
That thought does not encumber me, 
It will not make me rich ; 
It seems as if to make some dough, 
That I must dig a ditch. 
That labor is, indeed, too hard; 
I will not soil my hands. 
But oh! what can, what can I do? 
Go back to foreign lands? 
That neither can I try to do, 
I have no steamship ticket. 
Oh me! oh my! How poor am I! 
I'm just a homeless cricket. 

0. J., '25. 

Miss Gow: "Where's that Swift girl?" 
Quester: "She's fasting!" 

# # * 

Miss Hayes: "Doran, why are you 
looking at Maher?" 

Doran: "I'm trying to concentrate on 
something funny." 


There's a school on the hill called Nor- 
And most all its daughters too — 
Are the biggest lot of flappers 
That I ever saw, or knew. 

When'er their cheeks are faded, 
Or their lips begin to peel, 
They rush down to the beauty shop 
For a box of pink Jonteel. 

Most all of them are shingled, 
But they're quite a pretty set; 
There's not a lot of nicer girls 
In the whole U. S., I bet. 

Arthur Tucker, '25. 

* # # 

Inebriated one (preparing to jump into 
his bed) : "Welcome Shweet Shpring!" 

When I Am a Teacher 
When I am a teacher, I'll learn to know 
That my position is a chance to grow; 
I'll try to understand students who work, 
To direct their efforts that none may 

When I am a teacher, I'll always lead; 
I shall never drive to attain more speed. 
Pupils are human — and, moved by love, 
They do more work than when they are 

When I am a teacher, I'll play the game, 
Be more ready to praise than I am to 

blame ; 
Be sincere, and just, and never a snob, 
But above all else, I'll be on the job. 

When I am a teacher, this truth I'll learn, 
That I am the key to the whole concern ; 
That the future success of the students 

On capable leadership of my young 


M. C., '25. 



Fireman: "Anderson is taking up a Lib: "The boys are planning to wear 
lot in high school." four-in-hands for Graduation!" 

Johnson: "A lot of what? Room?" Grace: "Mercy! Four-in-hands for 


* * * 

* * * 

Senior, struggling bravely to finish Mrs. Judson: "I feel so silly that I 

graduation essay: "The last hundred haven't drawn a straight breath for a 
words are the hardest." week!" 

>c£ / 

,oef?N ikte r?PReT*T,oN ^3 


There was a young lady named Mary 

Who thought she was dainty and airy 

But she mot a sad doom 

On the scales in her room, 

For she was a two-hundred pound fairy. 

Miss Estes, after setting a sophisticated 
Senior to work one afternoon and finding 
her a moment later putting on powder: 
"Now what are you doing?" 

Senior: "Oh, a little 'make-up' work!" 

* * * 

* * * 

"Where are you going my pretty maid?" 
"I'm going to High School, sir," she said. 
"What learn you in High School, my 

pretty, sweet rose?" 
"How to crayon my eyebrows, and dance 

on my toes." 

"Is that what you learn in High School?" 

he said. 
And then, from the shock, he fell, cold 

and dead. 

M. Clancy, '25. 

Class Notes 
Class notes made for meditation, 
Class notes made for jolification, 
Class notes made for cynicism, 
Class notes made for criticism. 

Class notes read by editors, 
Class notes read by creditors, 
Class notes read by teachers, 
Class notes read by preachers. 

L. T., '25. 





Balboni, Mary 
Barry, Nora 
Bataitis, Gertrude 
Caverly, Margaret 
Clancy, Mary 
Connolly, Julia 
Connors, Ruth 
Corcoran, Helen 
Crowley, Mary 
Curran, Anna 
Curran, Helen 
Curran, Margaret 
Dean, Helen 
De Costa, Mary 
Endresen, Sylvia 
Fanning, Mary 
Fay, Naomi 
Flaherty, Mary 
Flansbury, Dorothy 
Flower, Congetta 
Gifford, Eva 
Gilliland, Elizabeth 
Griffin, Marie 
Higgins, Anna 
Johnson, Vera 
Keith, Gladys 
Kelliher, Agnes 
Kneznek, Eva 
Kulmala, Aune 
Lindeberg, Myrtha 
Lydon, Nora 
Macready, Edith 
MacLean, Ruth 
McDonough, Mary 
Milesky, Ida 
Moloney, Elizabeth 
Morse, Eleanor 
Newark, Mabel 
Nugent, Louise 
Owens, Margaret 
Potter, Grace 
Pratt, Alice 

Address : 
46 Central St. 
73 Railroad Ave. 
5 At wood Ave. 
408 Prospect St. 
9 Phillips Ave. 
247 Winter St. 
64 Winslow Ave. 

37 Mountain Ave. 
80 Prospect Ave. 
101 Casey St. 

29 Curran Ave. 
378 Railroad Ave. 
50 Bellevue Ave. 
41 Press Ave. 
15 Second St. 
185 Railroad Ave. 
46 Maple St. 
126 Cottage St. 
20 Summit Ave. 
11 Heaton Ave. 
18 Clark St. 
66 Hoyle St. 
437 Walpole St. 
80 Prospect Ave. 
69 Eliot St. 
136 Vernon St, 
41 Cedar St. 
103 Cottage St. 
22 Chapel St. 
15 Savin Ave. 
289 Railroad Ave. 
13 Dean St. 
301 Prospect St. 
87 Fulton St. 
1175 Washington St. 

38 George St. 
196 Vernon St. 
55 Cedar St. 
18 Williams St. 
2 Park St. 

83 Washington St. 
31 Maple St. 

Future plans: 

Normal Arts School 

Framingham Normal School 

Boston Teachers' College 

Jackson College 


Fitchburg Normal School 

Boston Teachers' College 

North Adams Normal School 

Hyannis Normal School 



Normal School 



Norwood Trust Co. 

Fitchburg Normal School 

Normal School 

Framingham Normal School 

Normal School 

Plimpton Press 

Bird and Son 

Wheaton College 

Western Reserve University 



Simmons College 


Jackson College 


Westfield Normal School 

Hollingsworth & Vose Co. 

Bouve School of Physical Education 

Hollingsworth & Vose Co. 



Framingham Normal School 



Framingham Normal School 

Bird and Son 

Rad cliff e College 

Worcester Normal School 




R.iley. Alyce 
Rosengren, Jeanette 
Saelen, Josephine 
Skoogberg. Lillian 
Sullivan, Dorothy 
Swift, Clarion 
Tollander. Lydia 
Turner, Doris 
Welsh. Mary 
Welsh, Teresa 
Wenzel, Lena 
Williams. Dorothy 
Wolfe. Man- 
Smith, Elsie 

130 Walpole St. 
306 Walpole St, 
356 Lenox St. 
22 Walnut Ave. 
38 Press Ave. 
419 Prospect St. 
70 East Cross St, 
379 Railroad Ave. 
300 Nahatan St. 
58 Eliot St. 
224 Winslow Ave. 

38 George St 
21 Maple St. 

39 Oak Road 

Chandler Secretarial School 

Westfield Normal School 

Framingham Normal School 


Fitchburg Normal School 



High School 

Western Union 

Boston Teachers' College 


Framingham Normal School 

Radcliffe College 


Anderson, John 
Bailey. Chester 
Bunney. James 
Cobb. Edwin 
Cronan. Bernard 
Dolaher, Leo 
Doran, James 
Dowling, Richard 
Elias. James 
Eppich, Fred 
Fireman, Irving 
Frederickson. George 
Hansen, Howard 
Hastings, Oliver 
Howard, Fred 
Hurley. Francis 
Johnson, Edmund 
Johnson. 01 got 
Kelter, David 
Kenefick, Vincent 
Knaus. Charles 
Lailey, Harold 
Mackenney, Lawrence 
Ma her. Maurice 
Maini, Bruno 
Mattson, Anton 
Molloy, Ernest 

101 Monroe St. 
264 Lenox St. 
47 Central St. 

19 Wheelock Ave. 

20 Warren Ave. 
157 Railroad Ave. 
37 Cross St. 

12 Warren St. 

1151 Washington St. 

35 Wilson St. 

894 Washington St. 

10 Harding Road 
23 Lenox Ave. 

11 Hoyle St. 

2 Alwood Ave. 
14 Williams St. 
16 Bellevue Ave. 
29 Davis Ave. 
50 Davis Ave. 
8 Hoyle St, 
481 Walpole St, 
153 Walnut Ave. 
136 Vernon St. 
11 Chapel St. 
66 Tremont St. 
11 Johnson Court 
140 Walnut Ave. 


Wentworth Institute 


Northeastern University 

Wentworth Institute 



Boston Conservatory of Music 

American Glue Co. 


Tufts College 




Brown University 




John Hyatt, Contractor 

Harvard University 

American Glue Co. 

Northeastern University 

Northeastern University 




Harvard University 



Pendergast, Fred 
Pendergast, James 
Regan, James 
Spierdowis, Michael 
Taylor, George 
Towne, Lea 
Tucker, Arthur 
Wacks, Joseph 
Waldheim, Robert 

98 Walnut Ave. 
30 Pleasant St. 
60 Cross St. 
14 Oolah Ave. 
4 Park St. 
28 Cross St. 
768 Neponset St. 
69 Philips Ave. 
50 Winslow Ave. 


Boston College 

Burdett College 

Hebron Academy 

Bentley School of Accounting 



Tufts College 

Norwich University 

Well, Juniors, another term has passed. 
Noth — I started to say that nothing of 
interest happened, but I remembered 
very plainly that something did happen. 
What was it? Why the Juniors nearly 
won the Scholar atrip Cup. Just think, 
we came within five-tenths of one per 
cent of winning it. At last we have 
found ourselves and have started on the 
right road. We mast remember, "If at 
first we don't succeed, to try, try again." 

I think that if we continue to improve, 
we shall certainly be vvorthy of becoming 

I've noticed that the Juniors owing 
Class Tax are carefully studying the 
lists that are posted — and, moreover, are 
paying what they owe. Keep up the 
good work, Juniors. Remember we shall 
not be Juniors much longer — but, mighty 

We want to start next year — our 
Senior year — with a good record and a 
very good recommendation. Let this 
be our goal and let us all work for it! 

Kind old lady, depositing coin in tin 
cup of beggar: "It must be terrible to 
be lame; but then, I suppose you're 
glad you're not blind." 

Beggar: "I sure am. Why last week 
when I was blind, I got some counterfeit 

Here lies my wife, Minnie Hine: 
Her troubles are quiet — 
So are mine. 

There was a young man named Spree 

Who fell o'er the trunk of a tree. 

He landed kerplunk 

On the back of a skunk; 

For a while from friends he was free. 

* * * 

"Tony," said the teacher, "'rase that 

Tony: "Can't, da board, he no run." 

* * * 

"Jimmy," said the teacher who was 
teaching the class more about the sense 
of touch, "here is a pencil. Now, what 
do you feel?" 

"Tired," said Jimmy with a yawn. 

* * * 

Young lady: "I hope when I am able 
to vote, I shall be as influential as my 

Ditto: "How's that?" 

Y. L. : "Why he voted in the last two 
presidential elections and each time his 
choice won." 

When did it happen, t'day or yest'clay? 
It happened t'day. 
Yes — t'day. 



Father, angrily: "What kind of pants 

are those you have on?" 

Up-to-date son: ''Balloon pants," 
Father: "Well they're going to fly out 

of here pretty soon." 

% * * 

What the Juniors Hope to Acquire: 

The Seniors' sophisticated air. 

The Senior girls' graceful motions. 

The Senior boys' sweet voices. 

The Sophomores' excess pride. 

The Sophomores' unexcelled ambitions. 

The Sophomores' "grown-up" ways. 

When we have added the above things 
to our make-up, we shall have attained 

* '■¥ * 

We Learx ix Exglish Class: 

From Metcalf — that Shakespeare was 
an Italian. 

From Isabel Zuiry — that she has to 
"transpose" Cassius' speeches. 

From Miss Estes — that a new way to 
pronounce "Miss" is "Mith." 

From Stone — that no animal was in- 
volved when "Aeneas did the old An- 
chises bear." 

# % ^ 

Sweet Studying 
English, French and chemistry 
Always make us full of glee. 
The homework is a friend to all — ■ 
Thus we rarely ever stall. 
Of course, we sometimes, all in fun, 
Do let our homework go undone. 

Every morning with anxious eyes, 

We wait just for that sun to rise, 

So, when there comes the break of day,. 

At our school work we can pla} r . 

It is our pleasure to recite 

Because we know that we are bright. 

We always keep our teachers "cool," 
Because we hardly ever fool. 
We fill right up with awful gloom 
When e'er a teacher leaves the room, 
And always feel a painful sting 
When we hear recess bell ring. 

We love to work. 

J. W., '26. 

Just a Junior 
The Seniors may be happy, 
For they graduate this Spring — 
But I'm glad I'm just a Junior. 
Now, these words I often sing. 

I'd dislike to be a Senior, 

And leave the school this year — 

I'm glad I'm just a Junior, 

And must spend some more time here. 

I suppose when I'm a Senior, 
I'll be proud and happy, too— 
But I'm glad I'm just a Junior 
And this year do not get through . 
K. Mahoney, '26. 

A sign seen in a grocery: "Big drop in 

We have not forgotten that Mr. 
Rowe prophesied that the Juniors were 
to receive the cup for the best Honor 
Roll Record. The class of '27, being 
Junior class next year, intends to receive 

the cup every term. Those who wish 

to enter into competition are welcome. 

* * * 

Dues are due, don't forget to do your 



Behold! the rings and pins of the 
Sophomore Class have come at last. 
Our upper classmates are still raving 
about them. The owl, though small, 
stands for wisdom which will be shown 
in the future. We certainly all con- 
gratulate the committee on their satis- 
fying choice. 

The exalted destiny of the Sophomore 
Class has been determined by the choos- 
ing of their advisors. 

* * * 

Bert: "How do you expect to hit 
the ball like that?" 

John: "Oh, I use my head." 

* * * 

Morrissey: "Girls will be girls, I sup- 

Howes: "Girls will be pests is more 


* * # 

Foolish Questions 

What keeps a heart-broken man alive? 

If a man is cracked, what keeps him 

If a man is nutty, does he grow on a 

What makes a man go off his mind if 
he isn't standing on his head? 

A. company of soldiers was lounging 

on a river bark. 

Captain (in sharp tores): "Fall in!" 
New private: "Oh, I just got this 

new suit, and now I have to get it all 


:K * * 

We wonder — 

If the dog star barks. 

If they'll raise the class tax. 

What would happen if the boys ran 
the lunch counter. 

If they'll shorten the periods next 

If Spencer likes Spanish. 

If "Dooney" was in at 7.50 this 

If Hartshorn is asleep or just dreaming. 

If Dedham will win next year. 

If the dignified Senior should speak 
to Sophs. 

When Dick Crosby's sweater will 
wear out. 

Why Jarvis doesn't play baseball. 

If there is anything else to wonder 

Miss Elliott: "Who were the leaders 
of the agricultural revolution in Eng- 

Pupil: "Ei' — er — the farmers." 

* * * 

Forgotten Blues 
My time is almost handy; 
All hope has left my trance; 
For I know that I shall perish 
Beneath that scorching glance. 
My knees are shaking badly; 
My stomach, feeling blue; 
And so, oh Guardian of the Wayward. 
I leave my fate to you. 

The door has opened noiselessly 
And a milestone has been passed. 
I am ushered into his presence; 
I feel as though I'm gassed. 
A chair is very handy; 
That I use as a place of rest. 
Numbness has invaded my body. 
My nature is not at its best. 

The principal regards me steadily ; 

I cringe beneath his gaze. 

He does not converse very readily 

And I see him through a haze. 

At last the verdict is rendered; 

My spirit is at rest, 

And I depart to do an errand, 

Wearing the smile of the blest. 

Wilbur C. Fay, '27. 



Jack: "Bill, I scored the winning run 

Bill: "I didn't know you played ball." 
Jack: "I don't: I am scorekeeper." 

U: "I ran a hundred yards last night 

in two seconds." 

R: "What track did you run about?" 

Dumb: "In bed about midnight." 
* * * 

Sophomore: "I heard that you had a 
pull with the teacher." 

Senior: "T did, but I guess that she 
was stronger than I." 

Miss Blake: "Pike, your figure for 
that exercise which you showed me in 
the study hall is not the same as Shute's." 

Pike: "Yes it is, only it's drawn 

At the Ball Game 

The batter hit a foul ball which was 
coming for Mr. Brown, who was gazing at 
a flock of birds flying over the field, 
when suddenly someone shouted "duck!" 

Mr. Brown replied haughtily, "You 
are crazy; they are geese." 

Aluraini Notes 

John Gahagan, '22, is the proud pos- 
sessor of a shiny, bran-new sedan of a 
popular make. "Oh, the lure of the 
open road." 

The "Dare-Knights" ran one of their 
successful dances on April 29. The 
versatile Ethiopians drew a fine crowd. 
Your genial Editor graced the gathering 
with his graceful presence and the dance 
was a tremendous mcco^. 

Another good time was had at a Nor- 
wood-B. C. Dance run by Jimmie 
Flaherty and "Tenner" McDonough. 
Our star reporter forgot his press badge 
and had to pay to get in, but the crowd 
-uch that he enjoyed himself just the 

Dances have been quite plentiful and 

the Alumni are well represented among 
the impresarios. The Triangle Club, 
composed of Catherine DoMmey, '22. Vera 
Downey, '23 and Annie Curran made 
"the welkin ring" (that isn't original) on 
May 29. 

We should appreciate very much news 
of the alumni who are away at college. 

An alumnus has volunteered the sug- 
gestion that the column should be headed 
by a fancy design with the inscription — 
"Abandon all hope, ye who enter here." 
We have been pondering the sugges- 
tion, wondering whether we should get 

George Newman, '21, graduates from 
Dartmouth this year. Congratulations, 


Comments On Omf ee Airguienot 

"Golden Rod," Quincy, Mass.— You 
have a fine magazine. Your Literary 
Department is especially good. 

"The Huttlestonian," New Bedford, 

Mass. — A superlative in the world of 
school magazines. 

"The Garnet," Virginia. — You have 
one of the best papers in our exchange 



column. Your Literary and Foreign 
Departments are worth reading. We 
thank you for the advice you gave us 
through your Exchange Department, and 
we hope to profit by it. 

'The Review," Central High School, 

N. Y. — The size and merit of your Liter- 
ary Department deserves much praise. 
I think more cuts would improve your 
paper. Your poems were greatly en- 

?e Argiienott " On Omf CoiMnmente 

"Northeastern Tech"- — A small but 
compact magazine which gives one a good 
idea of school life at Tech. 

"Spectator," Chicopee, Mass. — Our 
only criticism is that your paper is too 
small. Nevertheless, we like it. 

"Abhis," Abington, Mass. — We extend 
hearty congratulations to a school which 
we are able to judge favorably by its 
well-edited, interesting magazine. We 
are glad to see that a number of Abhis 
students received awards at the meeting 
of the Southeastern League of Publica- 

"The Rindge Register"— A clever little 
paper. Good jokes and cartoons. 

"The Academy," St. Joseph's Academy, 
St. Paul, Minn. — What an enviable paper 
you edit. Excellent material throughout. 
You have a real poet and artist in the 
persons of Lillian Coleman and Catherine 
Handrahan. Come again. 

"The Tripod," Roxbury Latin School- 
Congratulations on your clever frontis- 
piece! Your paper always seems over- 
flowing with school spirit, which of course, 
accounts for your successful edition. 

"The Review," Central High School, 
Washington, D. C. — Your paper is so 
full of excellent material that we find it 
impossible to comment upon any one 
article. We are certainly looking for- 
ward to receiving your next number. 

"The Courier," Hyde Park High School 
— Why not attempt an enlargement of 
your paper, for surely such a school as 

Hyde Park High is capable of editing 
a larger magazine. 

"B. U. News," Boston University — As 
fine a paper of its type as we have ever 

"Unquity Echo," Milton, Mass.— A pa- 
per we are glad to have in our exchange. 
We'll be dying of suspense until we ob- 
tain the concluding number of "Wild 

"Lawrence Bulletin," Lawrence, Mass. 
— Your paper has many admirable quali- 
ties which make an interesting an en- 
joyable magazine. 

"The Academic Observer," Utica, N. Y. 
— Your paper covers a wide variety of 
topics. It shows splendid cooperation 
on the part of the students at Utica, 

"The Review," Central High School, 
(May Issue) — Thanks for your comment 
on our paper. We hope to profit by it 
and some day to reach the degree of per- 
fection which the "Review" has attained. 

"Drury Academe," North Adams, 
Mass. — Your paper is amazing in its 
originality in regard to cuts and other 
material. Your jokes are the "real 
thing." Come again and often. 

"Golden Rod," Quincy, Mass.— Wel- 
come as a new member. We are proud 
to exchange with such a paper as yours. 

"The Oredigger," Colorado School of 
Mines — A small but newsy paper which 
we look forward to with interest. 

"The Blue and Gold," Maiden High 



School — "We think your paper would be 
a hundred per cent perfect if printed in 
magazine form with a few cuts. How- 
ever, it contains good, logical material. 

•'The Ateno," Manila, P. I.— One of 
the most finished and successful papers 
in our exchange. We look forward to 
each issue. 

"Oak Leaves.'* Vassaiboro — Your mag- 
azine certainly is an inspiration. We 
envy your excellent, well-balanced de- 

"The Green and White,' Manila, P. I. 
— One of the most enjoyable papers in 
our exchange. 

•The Jabberwock." Girls' Latin School, 
Boston. Mass. — A well finished magazine, 
though it may be improved considerably 
by a few cartoons. 

"The Glen-Xor Crier," Glenolden and 
Norwood High School, Pa. — We received 

copies of your magazine through the 
kindness of a member of our faculty. 
We like your magazine and wish to ex- 

"Holyoke Herald," Holyoke, Mass.— 
Your paper is always welcome though we 
do not always have a chance to comment 
upon it. 

"The Pilgrim," Plymouth, Mass- 
Welcome to our exchange column. We 
are always glad to receive new exchanges, 
especially when they are as successful 
papers as yours. 

"The Garnet," Richmond, Va.— Your 
paper, we feel sure, is the result of perfect 
cooperation between student and faculty. 

"The Huttlestonian," New Bedford, 
Mass. — What an artistic cover design. 
It attracts our attention from the first 
and the contents hold it to the last page. 

Day School of Business Administration 

Training for Leadership — Business, Social, Civic 

Two-year and four-year courses leading to Junior Certificate and degrees of Bachelor of Business 
Ad ministration and Master of Business Administration 



Finance and Banking 

Retailing and Retail Store Management 

Personnel Management 

Industrial Management 

Sales Management 

Problem Method of Instruction, Analysis of Actual Business Problems, Home Study Pro- 
jects, Individual and Group Surveys of Business, Motion Pictures on Basic Industries, 
Personal Conference with Executives. 

Student representation from many states and countries. Democratic in spirit. Each student's voice counts 
in every program. Varsity athletics: basket ball, baseball, track, soccer, gymnasium and swimming pool. 
Dramatic-, glee clubs, minstrels, orchestra. Wholesome social atmosphere: fraternities, and other student 

Freshman enrolment limited. Early application for admission advisable. 
Catalog and further information on request 


Katharine Gibbs 


for Educated Women 


247 Park Avenue 151 Commonwealth Ave. 


155 Angell Street 

One-year course includes technical, economic, and 
broad business training, preparing for superior positions. 

Two-year course including six college subjects for stu- 
dents not desiring college, but wishing a cultural as well 
as a business education. 

Seven-months' course — executive training for college 
women and women with business experience. 

Attractive residence school in Boston ideally situated 
at 151 Commonwealth Avenue. The school is within 
easy walking distance of Boston's shops, theatres, 
churches, and leading hotels. A location that is both 
quiet and convenient. 



Norwood, Massachusetts 




Cadillac, Hudson, Essex, Nash, Reo 
and Reo Speed Wagon 


"The House That Good Service Built" 

TEL. NOR. 0011 AND 0732 BRANCH DED. 0066 

Compliments of 


TEL. NOR. 0307 .'. .-. FREE DELIVERY 


;' : Compliments of 


Compliments of 



Talbot Building 





Groceries and Provisions 

Phone 0190 

72 Railroad Avenue 

Compliments of 


G. M. LEPPER, Inc. 

Compliments of 


First Class Service Careful and Competent Drivers 


Limousine and Taxi Service 
Weddings and Parties 

Telephone Connection NORWOOD Rear of 638 Washington St. 



Norwood Tire Store 


Dry Goods 




Lawn Mowers Ground 

Washington Street, Norwood 

520 Wash. St. Nor. 312-M 

Compliments of 





The Official Agent 
for Boy Scout 

Choice Teas, Coffees 
and Spices 




848 Washington Street, Norwood 

Women's and Children's 


Also carries a full line of 





Norwood, Massachusetts 


Compliments of 



Put Your Feet in Regan *s Hands" 




Compliments of 



Compliments of 


James A. Hartshorn 

Fresh Killed Poultry 

615 Washington St., Norwood 

Telephone on 8 


Barnsley's Shoe Shop 

709 Washington St. Norwood 

Compliments of 

Norwood Candy Shop 


Telephone 3o Norwood 


508 Washington Street 

"Wonderful Good Things to Eat 


Compliments of 

Wellington Pharmacy 


850 Washington Street, Norwood 

Lower than the Rest Better than the Best 



Cleansing, Dyeing, Pressing and Repairing 

Men's Suits Steam Cleaned and Pressed 



532 Washington St. Norwood, Mass. 

Tel. 031 2- J 



High Grade Custom Tailors for Ladies and Gents 

Cleaning, Dyeing, Remodelling of All Kinds of Garments 


We Call and Deliver 


Richardson Artcraft Shop 




Washington Street 



Ladies ana Gentlemen s 

1053 Washington St., So. Norwood 



Window Shades and Awnings 
Small Rugs for Under Students' Feet 
Waste Baskets in Metal and Willow 




Graduation Bouquets 

Flowers Telegra phed to All Parts of the World 

Compliments of 

H^inslow Bros. & Smith Co. 



We carry a full line of 

Talbot Block - Norwood 


Compliments of 


H. E. Rice & Co. 

Are Educating People to Trade in Norwood 



Hosiery Underwear Gloves Millinery 

Dresses Coats, Etc. 



Norwood, Walpole, East Walpole and Boston 

Telephone Nor. 1101 







5 and 10 Cent Store 

Toys of All Kinds 

1121-112.5 Washington Street 
Norwood, Mass. 

Miss Hettie Gray 

601 Washington Street 
Telephone 45-W 

Graduation Gifts 

That Are Unusual and 
Reasonably Priced 

Graduation Cards For Sale Here 


662 Washington St., Norwood, Mass. 




Morse Made Clothes Carter Underwear 

Lamson & Hubbard Hats and Caps 


Sanborn Block 


Norwood, Mass. 




V\(orwood L)uick Qompany 




The m&xaJHL Store 



Monumental Works 

JXCemorials of ^Distinction 

Cemetery lettering promptly attended 
to in any cemetery. Monuments in all 
New England granites. 

Washington Street 




Telephone 0976 


Nichols Sired